


More Than a Goddess

by Cecero



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Tol Girls Are Best Girls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2018-12-26 02:24:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 22,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12049350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecero/pseuds/Cecero
Summary: The Plain Doll has never had aspirations to advance, to leave the dream. The Hunter did, yet vowed never to leave her side.





	1. This Home of Ours

The Hunter wakes up on the cold cobblestone, screaming, heart throbbing in terror. The same patch of stone, the same grave, the same dream, all meet him, their familiarity calming him. The beasts are not here; his blood is not spilled. He looks down to his chest.

Nothing. No clawmarks, no scars, seemingly vanished upon his awakening.

The Hunter slumps against the nearest tombstone, letting out a shaky breath. Why was he doing this, again? It takes longer to remember each time.

A tiny hand reaches out and grasps the Hunter's little finger. He looks down, greeted by the comfortably disturbing form of a Messenger.

The Hunter pulls down his mask and smiles at the little creature. "Greetings, little one."

The Messenger releases his finger, raising it's own hands toward the sky in greeting, Almost as if praising the sun. The Hunter chuckles, then frowns. "All alone again?" He asks. All systems have a hierarchy, and the messengers are no exception. It seems like this one is ever the outcast.

The little creature gives a groan, turning to face the tombstone. It studies it intensely, so much so that it forgets it can't read. All day it wanders the dream, dutifully cleaning and staring at the graves.

The Hunter hums thoughtfully, then reaches into his trench coat. The Messenger moves closer, curious. A small hat is procured from a pocket, Flat-rimmed with a head covering, complete with a tawny feather on the side.

The creatures milky eyes widen as The Hunter gently lowers the cap onto it's head.

A giggle emanates from behind the strange pair. "Welcome home, good Hunter," says the Doll who inhabits the dream. She holds her segmented fingers over her mouth, laughing once more.

She towers over the hunter, seven feet tall, her pale face sporting a smile more genuine than any found on her small porcelain kin.

The Hunter nods, hastily pulling up his mask before the Doll can see the foolish smile spreading across his face. "Yes, well... It's good to be back," he replies, a bit too quickly.

The Doll giggles once more, blissfully ignorant of the crimson blush underneath his mask.

The Hunter sighs, laying in front of the fire with his legs crossed. The thick wooden doors of the workshop are closed; an oddity considering the weather is always calm in the hunters dream.

The Doll slowly stirs a simmering pot, the smell of wild onions and coldblood flowers wafting through the air.

The Doll suddenly speaks, looking up from her pot. "Good hunter."

"Hm?"

"What ails you? You seem unusually contemplative."

The Hunter sighs, sweeping off his mask and tricorn cap due to the mounting heat from the fire. "I have... This feeling."

He swallows, pulling the collar of his overcoat. "A feeling like warm contentment whenever I'm here. Like this is family."

He gestures towards her and the lone Messenger, now relocated and staring into the fire.

"And it makes me wonder about my family back in my homeland. They could be worried, waiting for me to come home, and I've forgotten if they even exist."

The Doll listens in silence before speaking up. "And where do I rest in this family of yours, good Hunter?"

The Hunter whips his head around, unused to the Doll being so inquisitive. "You would be my..." What could he say? Mother? Elder sister? Perhaps even wife? It's more like an amalgamation of the three, but the Hunter wouldn't dare express that.

"Your...?" The Doll asks, tilting her head.

A bead of sweat rolls down the hunters forehead. He takes a deep breath, then jumps up and dashes towards the door. Before he can push open the heavy oak, though, the Doll seizes him around the midriff, slinging him under one arm and walking back to the fire.

The lone Messenger watches, curious as to what these giants are doing.

The Doll plops the hunter down in front of the fire. She has frightening strength, especially considering her... Unique physiology. The Hunters eyes dart toward the door again. Seeing this, the Doll pulls his head down to rest on her lap, keeping a firm grip on his collar. "I am still waiting for an answer, good Hunter." She impatiently taps her left forefinger. "After all that I do for you, you would not grant me an answer?"

The Hunter shifts uncomfortably. One of the motherly traits the Doll possesses: the ability to make you feel incredibly ashamed with a single phrase.

The Doll lightly pokes the Hunter's cheek. "Well?"

"...Grandmother," the Hunter mumbles. This earns him a smack on the nose with a ladle.

The messenger snickers. "Alright, alright! But you have to go first."

"That was not the agreement."

The Hunter pouts, and the Doll sighs. Silence ensues.

Finally, the Hunter responds quietly. "You're my Goddess," he mumbles sheepishly. The Doll moves her head back in suprise. "How could you not be?" The Hunter continues. "You guide me, make me stronger, give me a home, you cook for me, console me... You hold me when the nightmares grow to be too much to bear." He coughs nervously.

The Doll puts her hand on her chest. "I am but a simple dol-"

"No!" The Hunter yells. "Would you call me a mass of flesh, rather than a man? Would you call this place a chunk of land, rather than our home? Would you call a kind, selfless, beautiful person a mere marionette, a mere doll? No!" The Hunter breathes deeply.

"No," he repeats. "You are more than that. You are a person. You are my person. Don't you dare call yourself just 'a simple doll.' If not for you my journey would still be at it's beginning. I would be as weak as I was when I came to Yharnam, unable to defeat a single lycanthrope."

All is silent. Suddenly, a single, tear rolls down the Doll's face, hardening into a stone as it drops to the floor.

"Oh, good Hunter," the Doll weeps, embracing him. He embraces her back, and her shawl drifts over him, warming his back and putting him at ease.

Perhaps, should the night carry on forever, he may yet find happiness.


	2. Reversal

The Hunter stands, awakening in front of the gravestone. His coat is spattered with gore, the dirt and bile dripping onto the cobblestone. Despite the injuries he suffers, though, the clothes often hold up unusually well, never needing more than a few stitches. This time however, he might have well been wearing bits of gauze.

The lone messenger at the grave wrinkles the space where it's nose would be, covering it with his new hood.

"Welcome home, goo..." The Doll begins, stopping and covering her nose with her shawl. "Good Hunter... Perhaps you might wash with sewage to dampen your odor?"

The Hunter blushes, his head sinking down between his shoulders. "I removed most of it with a beast roar," He mumbles.

"And how many times must I tell you that hunter tools are not meant for laundering? A perfectly good overcoat lies in ashes because you thought fire paper might dry it faster," she huffs. The hunter replies quietly.

"Fire paper isn't a hunter too-" before he can finish, the Doll seizes his ear and twists it, sharply. "Ow Ow Ow, please!" The Hunter squeaks. Standing more than a head taller than the Hunter, the Doll cuts an imposing figure. Combine that with her plentiful and baffling strength, the Hunter can't help but be intimidated. She herself would make a fearsome fighter, as her physical strength is leagues beyond the Hunter's.

"And why must you traipse about in these rags? Do you not have other garments?" She crosses her arms, waiting for an answer.

"I don't, actually. I died at the hands of another hunter, who took them, remember?" The Hunter replies.

"And you have not yet retrieved them?"

"No..." The Hunter shrinks into himself, upset at the lack of the usual affection he receives upon his return. When one spends so much time among beasts, a thorough spoiling from a lofty, loving madam was necessary.

The Doll sighs. "So you have no spare garments to don while I repair your outfit?" The Hunter shakes his head. "Very well," the Doll sighs once more and heads towards the large coffin used for storage. She kneels down and starts rummaging through it. Curious, the Hunter peers over her shoulder.

What he sees sends him sprinting towards the nearest gravestone.

"Hurkhhh!" The Doll grasps his collar, prepared for the Hunter's escape attempt.

"No!" The Hunter cries. "I'll get my clothes back! I swear!"

The Doll ignores his pleas, smiling wickedly as she descends upon him.

The Hunter sits on the floor, freshly scrubbed and clad in a long black skirt, corset, and shawl, à la Doll. Truly, which of them was really the doll?

"Why, good Hunter!" The Doll coos. "I never knew you had such a marvelous fashion sense!"

The lone Messenger snickers, and the Hunter shoots him a warning look.

"Don't you just look delectable!" The Doll leans forward, planting a kiss upon the Hunter's brow. He jumps at the unexpected contact, a pleasurable shiver running down his spine.

And somewhere, deep down, the Hunter can't help but think the humiliation was worth it.


	3. A Hearty Stew

The Hunter stands at the door to the workshop, admiring his handiwork. Books lay scattered about the room, dozens and dozens lying in a disheveled mess. Satisfied, he walks to the the mensis gravestone, fading out of the dream.

The Hunter awakens at mergo's loft, prepared to test his brand new church pick.

He reaches to his back, finding the sheath empty, for he had placed it upon the floor while flinging books about. Sighing, the Hunter kneels at the lamp, once more fading into the dream.

He awakens at the gravestone to hear a fluttering of pages. Walking up to the workshop, he sees the Doll kneeling, picking up the books.

"What?" He gasps.

"Welcome home good Hunter," the Doll says tiredly.

The Hunter gawks. "You... You have to clean this?"

"Indeed."

"I thought... I thought the dream... reset," the Hunter finished lamely. He had never considered a mere dream would follow the same laws as the waking world. Besides; hunting beasts requires one's full attention.

"I... I'm so sorry," the hunter breathes. "I never thought... Why didn't you tell me?"

"I am a servant of the dream, here to aid hunters in any measure," she explains.

The Hunter frowns. That was one of her maddening traits; she equated her worth to that of a mere tool, undeserving of anything.

The Hunter unslings his rucksack, rummaging through it and procuring a beautiful satin dress. It was of Cainhurst craftsmanship, a mysterious red and laced with gold fabric about the edges. Wordlessly, the Hunter holds it out to the Doll. She takes it slowly, in disbelief that someone would treat her with such kindness, and oh! To present her with such a magnificent dress...

"Well?" The Hunter says. "Try it on!" He turns around, granting her privacy. She unlaced her corset, casting off her shawl and skirt. Pulling the dress on, she removes her hat, and her long white hair tumbles down past her shoulders. She taps the Hunter's shoulder.

The Hunter turns around, and his jaw drops.

She truly does look like a goddess now, with her dress flowing in the slight breeze, her face happy, content, grateful, and loving all at the same time.

She darts forward and embraces the Hunter, who has his breath squeezed out of him. "Thank you," she whispers. That such a simple act could bring her such joy amazed the Hunter. He nods, returning her embrace so she doesn't see the red spreading across his face.

She smiles. "Perhaps tonight we might make the Old Woman's stew?" The Hunters eyes widened; that was his favorite. He had received the recipe from an elderly yharnam resident he saved. The stew called for a precise mixture of blue elixir and sedatives. The result was an intoxicating effect from the stew, causing the consumer to feel drunk, giddy, and extremely sociable. For those close to the consumer, extremely sociable may even transform into extremely affectionate, for sedatives remove the boundaries keeping one from expressing their attachment.

The Hunter's Dream was forever in a cloudy day. However, the host of the dream may change certain properties. Gehrman agreed to move the dream into a cool crisp night (in exchange for a hearty helping of sedative stew, of course.)

"Calm yourself, good hunter," the Doll titters, as the Hunter is frantically checking the stew to see if it's ready. He withdraws a tasting spoon, putting it into his mouth and savoring the taste. It tasted of wild herbs only found in Yharnam, widely known for their uplifting effects. Many tastes were mixed in; salt, beef, onion, and several chunks of scurrying beast.

"It's ready!" The Hunter crows excitedly. He dips the ladle into the cauldron, pouring it into two ornate bowls from a distant eastern land. Another gift for the Doll from the abandoned shops of Yharnam. The Hunter had questioned the Doll's ability to eat at first, but one mustn't make assumptions. Especially about a seven foot tall, walking, talking doll with strength exceeding that of a seasoned hunter.

She gratefully takes the bowl from him, elegantly dipping her spoon into the stew.

The two sit in comfortable silence, helping themselves to a second bowl, then a third. When the cauldron was half empty, the Hunter filled several oval-shaped glass bottles with the concoction. The residents of Odeon Chapel were always grateful for the dish; it takes away the stress that comes with the night of the hunt. A bottle for Eileen, a bottle for Djura, one for Simon, Brador, Yamamura, and one for a docile crow the Hunter had taken to, hidden away on the roof of Odeon Chapel.

A chill breeze blows into the workshop, and the two occupants close the heavy oak doors. The room is now warm and homey, lulling the two into a stupor, aided by the stew. The Hunter drags himself over to the Doll and promptly throws his arms around her shoulders, nuzzling into her neck. "Yourrr so pretty," he slurs. The Doll covers her mouth in suprise, then looks away bashfully.

"You d-don't mean that, hood gunter," she stammers.

"Yesh I do!" He exclaims angrily. "You have... uhm... Beatiful hair, and your face is good, and you're nice and kind, and pretty, and nice..." He trails off, and the Doll giggles at his childlike diction.

The Hunter continues blearily. "I like you. a lllot. When I hold you my head gets alll... Fuzzy," the Hunter admits, slurring his words.

"In my family, you would... Mine... Wi-" he quiets suddenly, falling into a deep sleep.

The Doll holds him tighter, an odd feeling in her chest. What might it be? Joy? Or something more?

She stares affectionately at the Hunter, rubbing his back. He would forget this when he wakes, she thought. But she wouldn't. She would cherish this feeling, and this memory, for all her days.


	4. Quork

The Hunter rests on the roof of Odeon chapel, a crow drinking sedative soup from a tin next to him.

He pulls off one of his greaves and runs a hand through the feathers atop it's head.

The crow shifts it's head, guiding the hand towards the spot it wants scratched.

How long would it take to end the nightmare? The Hunter ponders. And if he truly could manage it, what then? He had met many former hunters in his trudge across Yharnam. They all left the hunter's dream behind. Could he do the same? Could he leave her? No, he thought. He was already...

"What do I do?" He says aloud. The crow cocks it's head. Had any other hunters experienced this? What then? Could she even truly feel the same way about him?

His thoughts are stuck in a loop, and he can't stop doubting himself.

He turns to the crow. "What a mess, huh?"

"Quork!"

The Hunter chuckles. "You can say that again."

"Quork!"

"Welcome home, good hun- EEP!" The Doll squeaks in surprise as the Hunter's form becomes clearer, and with him, a guest.

"Good Hunter..." She says dangerously. "What is this creature..." She pauses to calm herself.

"Haven't you ever seen a crow before?"

"I know what a crow is," she snaps. "But what I do not know is what a crow is doing here."

"She doesn't do much of anything, really. She just kind of sits there." He replies, puzzled.

"Don't play your word games with me. This is a sacred sanctuary that exists out of time. It is not for pet ravens."

"She's a crow."

The Doll glowers at him, fuming. He hunches his shoulders, suprised at the Doll's reaction. Normally he couldn't get her to even express an opinion, so this deluge of anger was frighteningly uncharacteristic for her.

"She's docile! Look, see?" He rubs the crow's head affectionately. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it almost looked as if the Doll's eye twitched.

"Is it sedated? Most all beasts would become docile while under the effects of sedative stew," she says coldly.

"Well-"

"Well?" She crosses her arms.

"She is, but she was docile to begin with. That's why I gave her the stew!" The Hunter says, becoming frustrated.

"It's diseased."

"No, she isn't. Even if she was, Neither of us can get sick!" The Hunter draws himself to his full height, crossing his arms as well. Her eyes seems to twitch once more as he insists on using the crow's proper pronoun.

They stare each other down, the Hunter fighting not to cower in fear and hurt. The Doll surpasses him in both height and strength, and he knew he could not bring himself to fight her. Even if he could, he has a sinking feeling that he would lose.

The crow looks at them both, wondering what their dreadful squawking was about.

The Hunter had unsettled her at first, what with his oddly shaped shiny claws and plumage. Over time, though, she grew used to him. This new one, though...

The Doll did have what looked suspiciously like flat black feathers around her lower half,

And she looked to have brown wings! Surely she couldn't mean the crow any Ill intent, and that smell... It was similar to the smell of the tree she grew up in, though another, slightly metallic was mixed with it.

Perhaps she was hungry? The crow inches it's way towards the nearest gravestone, all while the two giants continued their squawking. She darts her beak out and seizes a lone Messenger by the scruff of its head covering, ambling towards the Doll with her prey.

The Messenger gives a groan of indignation.

"And now look!" The Doll cries. "It sees the poor Messengers as prey!"

The crow places the Messenger at the Doll's feet, pecking at her bootlace to draw her attention to it.

"Ah," the Doll says, realization sinking in.

The Hunter beams. "See she brought you a gift!"

The Doll kneels, guarding the Messenger. "Not food," she says sternly to the crow.

The crow cocks her head. Perhaps this large bird was herbivorous? The crow Quorks softly. Suddenly she seizes the Messenger again-

"No!" The Doll cries.

-Only to place it gently across her back feathers, ferrying it back to it's tombstone.

The Doll stares, mouth agape.

"Well? I told you," the Hunter chides. "I'm a good judge of personality, even if a being seems dangerous. I took a chance on you, didn't I?"

The Doll softly smacks him, still looking at the crow. Finally, after a long silence, she speaks. "It- she must stay in the field of the great tree. The Messengers might fear her."

The Hunter grins widely, hugging the Doll.

After a few seconds, they both realize what they are doing, pulling away quickly. The Hunter blushes, and if the Doll could, she would as well.

The Hunter shakes his head, girding himself before embracing her once more. He could stand it no longer; his desire and weariness had won against his apprehension and embarrassment.

He holds his breath, his face pressed against her cravat. After a moment, he feels her wrap her arms tenderly around him, holding him firm. She turns gently and sits down on the stone and dirt ledge she stands vigil at.

Shifting the Hunter, she holds her arm across his back so that he may recline. She adjust her shawl, enveloping the Hunter in it to shelter him from the slightly chill breeze. He sighs, throwing his ego to the wind and pressing close to her. Though she was a doll, her clothes, and her, by extension, were mysteriously warm.

And, ever so slightly, they grew warmer.

The Doll gazes at him, adjusting her arm whenever he shifts in his sleep. She hopes that his true dreams are pleasant; there is enough distress in the rest of the sleeping realms.

The crow looks at the Hunter curiously.

"So peaceful, is he not?" The Doll sighs.

"Quork," The crow says in agreement.

She giggles. "Quork indeed." She strokes the Hunter's hair, smiling.

"Quork indeed."


	5. More Than A Name

A breeze blew through the hunter's dream, cooling the residents on an unusually sunny day.

It had taken quite a few amenities from yharnam, but the Hunter was finally able to bribe Gehrman to part the clouds and bathe the dream in sunlight. It was quite the odd juxtaposition, however, with the large moon sharing the sky with the sun. Exhausted from the task of changing the dream, Gehrman had taken a bowl of sedative soup and promptly fell asleep, his rest undisturbed by nightmares and muttering for once.

The Hunter rests against the trunk of the great tree, wearing Yamamura's clothes. He is quite fond of them, wearing them whenever he spends more than a moment in the dream. The hakama is soft and loose-fitting, the haori large and comfortable, leaving his arms bare.

The Doll sits nearby, her legs together on one side. She is wearing her Cainhurst dress; perhaps a bit grand for relaxing in the feild, but still cooler than her shawl. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, her bangs framing her gentle face.

The Hunter stares at her, entranced. Through her hair he can see her bare back, remarkably detailed. It looks no different from a back made of flesh and bone.

A quiet "quork," from a nearby crow draws the Hunters attention to the odd pair in the feild with them. Quork (for indeed that was her name, thoughtfully given by the Hunter) Had Adam (a name the Doll had taken to calling the lone messenger) upon her back, ambling around the field.

The Hunter looks up in thought. A name...

Neither he nor the Doll had one. He didn't much care; there were not very many people to talk to, and when there are only two sane people around, you know the other person is talking to you. The Doll would likely call him 'good hunter' regardless, and she was the only one he cared about.

She would never insist on a name, though. Subservient and humble as she was, she would care little about being callously referred to as 'Doll.' In fact the Hunter refused to call her such; it describes what she thinks she is. A mere doll. Equivalent to adressing a human as 'Human,' as if to say that they are not worthy of possessing any distinguishing features.

He shuffles over to her.

"Those two have become fast friends, have they not?" She asks, nodding towards Adam and Quork.

"I don't know..." the Hunter replies as the two slowly make their way across the field. "More like slow friends."

The Doll stares at him flatly. "I am but a Doll, and do not understand human attempts at humor," she says, looking away. Ouch. The Hunter had seen her laugh before. Though he knew she was lying, it didn't make her quip sting any less.

"I call them by name," the Hunter says. "But they cannot speak, so we chose one for them. What about you? Wouldn't you like a name?"

"It does not matte-"

"It does matter," the Hunter snaps. "It matters to me."

They sit in silence. "Then what shall it be?" She asks.

"Whatever you want."

"It matters not to me. You are the one who cares, so I shall have the name you choose for me."

"Rrrgh," the Hunter mutters. "Fine."

Having rested in the field for several hours, the small group begin to notice the sun dipping low iin the sky. It makes sense, the Hunter supposes. He would have no reason to bring Gehrman bribes if the weather behaved as it does in the waking world.

He stands up to gather firewood for a

cook-fire. "Leaving so soon?" The Doll asks, dismayed. She outstretches her hand, ready to say something, but quickly thinks better and says in a vitriolic tone, "Have fun in the waking world."

"Wait a minute. You... You were going to stop me from leaving, weren't you?!" The Hunter asks, a saccharine smile on his face. "You wanted me to stay that bad, huh?"

"I-I-I... Do not be foolish. I am here to aid hunters, n-not cling to them," she stammers.

"If you are truly here to aid me, then you would cling to me. Normally the only time someone clings to me is when they are about to bite through my shoulder. A change would be most welcome."

"...Whatever..." She mutters, seizing his arm and pulling him to sit next to her. The Hunter is shocked; for the normally stoic beauty to use such a colloquial and dismissive term! She must be incredibly unsettled.

The two sit in silence, arms pressing against each other. The Doll sits in a rather peturbed silence, unused to this peculiar feeling in her chest. After a while, the Hunter speaks.

"How about... Karina?"

"What?" The Doll asks.

"Your name. How about Karina?"

"Karina..." The Doll repeats, the ghost of a smile on her face. "Is this a name from your homeland?"

"Yes and no," the Hunter replies. "I don't remember where I'm from, but the Yharnam literature I have read says it is used in mant countries. In some, it means Beautiful. In others, it may mean pure, beloved, precious, or kind."

"And is this why you chose this name?" She asks, curious.

"I..." The Hunter pauses. "You still haven't answered. Do you like it?"

"If I am to like it, I must know why it was chosen."

He sighs. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

The Hunter growls. "Yes, that's why I chose it! I chose it because you're beautiful, pure, kind, and precious to me! Do you like it or not?!"

The Doll looks taken aback. "Yes," she says quietly. "Very much." Her voice breaks, and she presses her lips together hard to keep herself from crying in joy.

"Good hunter?"

"Yes?"

"May we skip supper?" She asks.

"I suppose so," the Hunter replies. "But why?"

She pulls him closer, pulling up the blanket they are sitting on and wrapping it around them both. "Because I want to stay like this," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

"Of course," the Hunter replies, pressing closer to her. He lowers his head, making sure she cannot see his lips, so that he may whisper four words. He does so, saying the fourth word aloud.

"-Karina."

Ever so slightly, she grows warmer.


	6. Lucid Workshop

The thick wooden doors of the workshop are closed for the day, the occupants of the dream spending time with the Hunter on his self-appointed 'day off.'

The Hunter lays draped across the Doll's lap, sighing contentedly as she runs her long fingers through his dark neck-length hair. Quork lays in front of them, giving a happy, quiet caw as the Hunter ruffles her feathers.

Adam sulks by the fire, his tiny face looking peeved.

The Hunter struggles to keep still. He has a rather unique relationship with the Doll, who he refers aloud to as Karina. She almost takes the role of a mother, yet she still has an air of a young woman about her. Her ability to increase his strength coupled with the frightening amount of her own only serves to draw him closer. It is bliss to let her take a protective role after a long hunt.

But as time passes, the Hunter has become restless. His chest feels full to bursting, and the only time relief comes to him is when he is next to her. Over time, even that did nothing to make the feeling subside. He has to fight to reign himself in, to keep from burying himself in her arms the moment he returns.

She is something new, something that has never existed before. Should he share his feelings? Would she even be able to return them? If she could, who is to say that they are real? After all, she herself had said: "of course, I do love you. Isn't that how you've made me?"

He sighs, rolling over to face her stomach and wrapping his arms around it. As it is now, he could do such a thing, and she would only assume it is platonic affection. But if he should tell her his feelings, she would assume it is always more than that. The Hunter's head spins, once again thinking in circles.

The Doll moves him off of her lap, walking over to the large chest used for storage. She pulls out a thin matress and drags it to the fire, pushing him out of the way with her foot. Once it is in place, she plucks him from the floor, gently tossing him onto it.

She lays down next to him, wrapping her shawl around him the way he likes.

"Karina."

"Hm?"

The Hunter pauses, unsure of what to say. "The other hunters... What did they think of you? Of all of this?"

"I do not understand." She frowns.

"How did they view the hunt? Were they hunters out of a sense of duty? Pleasure? Bloodlust?"

She is silent for a moment, contemplating.

"In the beginning, it was out of necessity. The streets were being overrun, and many citizens became hunters to quell the growing tide of beasts, lest they lose their home.

As time wore on, the hunters used me to grow stronger and stronger. They sook more powerful foes to gain more echoes, and in doing so, came to rely on healing blood. Each and every hunter would soon become a beast, retaining their power and forcing unturned hunters to grow stronger.

It was a vicious cycle.

The time came when the odds became near insurmountable. Incredibly powerful hunters roamed the streets, fewer citizens were left, fewer still willing to become hunters. The streets ran red, and Yharnam slowly descended into madness.

I am part of the dream, a mere doll. A replica born from the mind of a great one, albeit a replica with conciousness. I helped hunter after hunter grow in strength, soon realizing that when they were long absent, they had turned into beasts. Why would I even cross their minds, if I appeared to be a mere tool to increase their strength? Such is my only purpose.

Eventually, the few hunters that returned became more and more ragged with each visit, and they even forewent talking to others. They had become mechainical, like their weapons. They became their weapons, existing only to kill, to strengthen, kill, strengthen...

One day, towards the end of the hunt, there was but one hunter left. Eileen and Djura had long since been freed, their then-young eyes dark with insight on horrific truths both eldritch and human. This hunter had begun to talk to me, to acknowledge me. But I saw the truth in his eyes. He had no one left, and he never truly beleived in my personhood.

He talked of his wife and children, some grown, some newly born. He was from a far away land, here to recieve healing blood for an illness that plagued his bloodline. A sickness was in his brain, and with each beckoning of the moon it grew in him and his children. Once he had finished his hunt, he returned to his homeland with powerful healing blood for his children, but at a terrible price. A sickness of the brain cannot be reversed. He may have won the hunt, but he had all but lost his mind to illness, insight, and beasthood. I pray he managed to stave off his bloodlust, at least until he could treat his children...

That was over two decades ago, near as I can tell. Here I have waited as the messengers search for those strong enough for the hunt. With no one to guide, Gehrman remained unseen, and I remained unmoving."

She finishes her tale, settling into silence.

The Hunter struggles to keep himself even.

To be alone, despite being among so many people, later to be alone with none... What cruel god could give such a fate to such a caring person? And to the hunters who cared only of their strength, and their addiction... His heart burns with rage. He wishes pain and misery on their souls. To use her, their savior and caretaker, to only strengthen themselves and cast her aside?

The Doll notices the scowl on the Hunter's face. "It matters not, now," she whispers.

"They are gone, and you are here. I had no one, and now I have you. I felt nothing, but now I am happy." She tightens her grip on him, hiding her face in his hair.

He remains silent, heart pounding with fear and apprehension. Finally, he speaks.

"Karina... You are human in all ways but one. Your body. You feel joy, sadness, lonliness, mirth, love. But... Can you truly feel love? Not a mother's love, nor a friend's, but the love shared between a man and a woman?

"I can," she responds.

"How could you know?"

"Because I can feel it now," she responds simply.

The Hunter blinks uncomprehendingly.

"How? For who?"

She sighs. "For you, you fool of a hunter."

The Hunter is silent, the revalation sinking in slowly. He then slowly brings his eyes to meet hers, seeing no deception, no confusion.

Only love.

He clutches her tightly, taking great breaths, as if he had narrowly escaped death. Pulling back and bringing his forehead up to hers, they stare at each other. Then, as if practiced, they both lean in at the same time, tilting their heads in opposite directions.

Their lips touch, and the Hunter is shocked to find that her lips are soft, so incredibly soft that they are indescribable. They cannot be real. They are warm, and they grow to be almost hot. They are so beautiful, so perfect, so decadently, blissfully, unbelievably soft that the Hunter cannot help but shiver in ecstasy. He can feel her hands tightening on his back, trembling.

Her long legs wrap around his, and he is once again shocked to find them growing warm, warm, warmer. "I love you too," He breathes. "Thank you. Thank you for helping me, for guiding me, for strengthening me. Thank you for giving me something to fight for."

She locks her legs around him, her frightening strength barely contained, squeezing him, causing slight pain but oh-so-much more pleasure.

She takes his head in her hands, pulling away. "You are not returning to the hunt at the end of this 'day,' nor tomorrow. You are mine here until I tell you to leave."

"I don't want to leave at all," he says.

She mock-frowns. "But you must. Even I could not suffer you all day, every day."

The Hunter smiles. "All the more shame," he replies in a whisper.

"Because I could suffer you for all time."


	7. Projections of Familiarity

The Hunter sighs and adjust his head on the Doll's lap. They were well into the first day of their first vacation together, and since there was little to do in the Hunter's dream, they had been in need of a distraction.

So the Hunter had ventured into Yharnam among the ruined shops in search of said distraction. He searched bookstores and toy shops, bazaars and tinker-shops, even the odd house or two. But there was nothing of interest to be found. Until...

A cleric beast had sprung from a nearby warehouse, crashing through the door as if it had been made of twigs. Eager to try out his newly-improved Blade of Mercy, he popped a beast blood pellet, dashing forward underneath the beast's swipes. He rolled beneath it's legs, sinking the steel fang into the flesh of it's calves. Flipping it open, he seperated the two blades, yanking them out in a spray of crimson.

The beast roared and fell to a knee. The Hunter jumped back, then ran up to it, springboarding off of it's heel to land on it's back. He dashed up the creatures back, dragging his blades along it. Finally reaching it's head, he lifted the blades, joining them together in a shower of sparks, and stabbed it into the beast's temple. It gave an ear-splitting howl, tumbling forward onto the blood-slick streets.

The Hunter jumped off, sheathing his blade and wiping the blood from his face.

Suddenly, a glint from inside the warehouse caught his eye. As he approached the source, he broke into a grin. perfect.

Yharnam was a place of stunted technologic advancement, no doubt from the healing church and the ghastly hunt.

The bolts of the darkbeasts were used to light the streets, yet the beasts themselves were slain with steel and lead. Elaborate lifts connected centuries-old districts, and complex firearms were wielded with wooden clubs. Blood ministration only served to widen the divide, with citizens forgoing intellectual persuits in favor of the crimson ambrosia.

Yet mere weeks before this dreadful hunt, the streets had been abuzz with exited whispers of a machine that displayed the past with naught but a whir and a clank. A bright light would flash forth, and the audience would be dazzled with visions of acrobatic feats and furious bouts between men.

So the Hunter, having found what he was looking for, returned to the dream with the heavy machine in tow. The Doll had poked and prodded at it in amazement, at first not believeing it could do what he claimed.

So he had bought three tonitruses and spent the next few hours connecting them to the machine. A mass of wires connected each tonitrus to it, and each tonitrus was given to a group of messengers at the graves. One group would shake it about for a bit, then the next, and so on, so as not to tire the little fellows.

So the Doll and the Hunter break open a bottle of wine from the Pthumerian age. (A priceless delicacy the Hunter had found whilst exploring the hintertombs.

"For you, my lady," says the Hunter, pouring the wine in a mock flourish. She giggles and takes a sip, the liquid likely disappearing to a faraway universe. That might as well be what happens, as the Hunter had no clue, and he had no intention of asking his lover what happened to the liquid she drank!

They sat down once more, the Hunter once again setting his head upon the Doll's lap with a blissful sigh. Across the wall flashed fantastical scenes of dragons, knights, fire, and a mischievous bald man who always seemed to be outwitted by the heroine.

The Doll had clapped upon discovering that the star of the film was female. Women were under-represented in Yharnam media, and she had read few books that had a female main character.

She is even more delighted to learn that the other main character was a woman; in fact, said woman bares a strong resemblance to the Doll.

She has long white hair, tied into a jaw-droppingly gorgeous braid. Her robes are made of flowing silk, and her eyes are covered with an elelaborately engraved headpiece of the finest silver. She also had quite a buxom figure, which turned the Doll's smile into an icy glare.

The Hunter snickers, turning to her. "Jealous?"

Moments later, he is airborne, the Doll having chucked him straight upwards with her immense strength. He comes crashing down to the ground, and in a flash she falls down to land, sitting painfully on the Hunters chest.

"OOF! Ha- K-Karina, I'm sorry, so..." He wheezes once more. "Can you please get off my chest? You're really heav-OOF!"

His comment is rewarded with a hop, driving the breath from him once again. She was indeed heavy; being seven feet tall and mostly solid, the Hunter figured she must have been almost twice his weight.

She remains silent, staring at the film as she puts her knees together and to the side, sitting elegantly atop the Hunter's torso.

One thing that had always suprised the Hunter about the Doll; she was soft. She still has a solid body, but it is surrounded by plump material. To be sure, It is the same material, yet somehow the feeling is different.

None of this bothers the Hunter. Quite the opposite, actually; he is finding it very difficult to keep calm. He finds that her weight on him is oddly pleasant, and his skin raises gooseflesh from being so close to his Goddess. His breath quickens, his heart beats quickly, and a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead.

Resigning his freedom to her, he settles back and wraps his arms around her waist.

"I love you."

The Doll scowls. "Only a perverse hunter such as yourself could turn punishment into a reward. You are infuriating!"

He chuckles.

The Doll has fire in her eyes for a moment, but it quickly dies and her shoulders sag.

"Oh, very well. Laugh at my expense all you wish, you foolish man."

He smirks. "Foolish I may be, but you still fell for me, did you not?"

"I most certainly did not. I have impeccable balance," she huffs.

The Hunter stares at her. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Soon, he can barely control himself, his calm facáde dissolving into peals of laughter. She stares at him, watching him roll across the floor in mirth. Soon, they are both heaving with laughter, leaning on each other for support.

The laughter finally dies down, and they stare lovingly at each other, affections spurred by the joy they shared. The Hunter embraces her, leaning his head on her shoulder.

Back in his homeland, he remembers the social stigma of courting a woman taller than you. Men should be strong, women should be subservient, they would say. What utter hogwash. To limit what one might give to world, be it industrious or artistic, merely because of their sex?

The Hunter scoffs. What a marvel we have made it this far, he thinks.

He cannot imagine courting a woman smaller than him, not after being with the Doll. His life's greatest joys are to return to her arms, to let her strengthen him, to look up to her, to let her protect him, even if only in his imagination. How could he do such things with a wisp of a girl, head forever bowed, taught to look at all others as though they are superior? His blood boils at the injustice, of the happiness stripped from lovers for no reason other than some perverse method of control.

He breathes, deeply, the scent of the Doll calming him. She smells of coldblood flowerbud, smoke, and ink and paper.

Oh, how she loved her books. Teaching her to read had been an arduous process, with the Doll getting uncharacteristically frustrated. Several of their lessons had ended with her giving him a new hat, albeit in the shape of a book.

He didn't mind though; whilst upset, she was incredibly adorable. That pout, the sulk she pulls off so well, and that rarely seen deliciously haughty manner! It gives him the drive to barrel through a thousand hunts.

The Hunter looks up at her; her eyes are half-lidded with want, her mouth slightly open. He leans in, his heart hammering against his chest despite the fact they had kissed before. He can't stand it. Her lush lips are so tantalizingly close that every fiber of his being is screaming, begging to make contact. He is about to kiss her, he is about to breach the surface of the water for a breath of sweet, delicious air...

"Quooooooork!"

"Aaaaaagh!"

In a torrent of feathers, Quork places herself squarely between them, clearly miffed she had gone the whole day without a single head-ruffle.

The Hunter lies on his back, panting harder than when facing an enemy thrice his size. In Yharnam was one matter, but to be assailed in the Dream, with no foe to be found? The Hunter feared he would not rest easily for a while.

"My, my. It appears you have been replaced, good hunter," titters the Doll.

He huffs, staring angrily at Quork.

"Bird...Hah...Brain."

She spits a pebble at him.

He lies back down, groaning.

"Tch. Women."


	8. Renovation

Time rarely advances on the night of the hunt. The Paleblood moon was emboldening to the blood of the Great Ones, as evidenced by the beastly scourge.

The space around the great ones warps Yharnam itself, making the hunt near unending. For the first time, the Hunter is thankful for it.

The past month has been pure bliss. Now with someone to love, he is spurred on, whipping through beasts like a tornado. He has come to enjoy the hunt; thanks to the Doll, he has a new outlook. Even death was no longer a curse; upon being struck down, he would awaken in the dream to be comforted by his own personal angel. He would then race off to face his foe once more, never failing to cut through them.

Her love could even quell the pull of beasthood. The Hunter could use beast blood pellets and copious amounts of blood vials without feeling a hint of temptation to let himself go.

Truly, her love was an incredible thing.

As the Hunter had moved through the land, he began to collect more and more items fron the ruins. Chairs, books, lumber, clothes, all taken back to the dream. It was beginning to look like a luxurious lord's home, with a wooden platform at the bottom of the hill of the great tree, looking out into the distance. Quork and Adam each had a small dwelling of their own, built by the Hunter and ornately painted and sculpted by the Doll. For the lovers themselves, the Hunter had constructed a small room behind the Caryll rune altar, silk and satin sheets tossed over mounds and mounds of pillows to make a heavenly bed.

Even Gherman enjoyed new accommodations; The Hunter had built an awning at his favorite napping spot. During the hunt the Hunter had collected a boundless supply of sedatives for him as well, so the retired old hunter was happy to change the weather every day.

At first, the Hunter had been uncomfortable supplying him with so much, but the Doll assured him no harm would come to Gherman, being the ethereal source of the dream. This made the couple happy; Gherman's mood improved substantially. Now that he could sleep peacefully and gain a reprieve, his waking hours were much happier. He would laugh and sing over supper, crooning wonderful ballads for the couple. The Hunter had even taken to calling him 'Old Mossback,' a popular term for elders when he was a boy.

Gherman even let out a hearty laugh upon hearing it for the first time.

The Hunter sits down and wipes his brow, currently working on a large scale messenger bath, set in the ground in the field of the great tree. He has faint wisps of memory of the warm summers of his childhood, and how delightful it was to soak in a pond or a lake. He wants to share that joy with his little family.

"Lazing about so soon, my love?"

The Doll's voice emnates from behind the Hunter. "How I could yearn so for such a sloth of a man, I shall never know."

The Hunter smiles at her teasing. "You could help, you know."

She presses her fingertips above her chest in mock suprise. "Heavens, no! I am but a fragile lady, not fit for labor requiring strong and manly muscles such as yours," She says sultrily. The Hunter's heartbeat quickens.

"Oh please," he grumbles. "We both know you could toss me into the clouds with one hand, if you wished." She ignores him, pouring herself a glass of wine from the cabinets on the overlook, another addition by the Hunter. She sits down on a lounge chair, calmly observing the Hunter while she swirls the wine and takes a sip.

"Well?" She says. "Remove your habit!"

The Hunter's jaw drops. While the Doll is becoming more outspoken and comfortable expressing herself, this is quite the leap. For her to so easily express such a desire shows she has come far.

"M-my habit?" The Hunter stammers, still not believing his ears.

"Yes," she says impatiently. "Starting with your habit of resisting me. Then the one you wear." The Hunter gulps, blushing furiously as he removes his shirt, not daring to disobey. The Doll watches, hand resting on her palm as she swirls her wine.

The Hunter goes back to digging, toiling away under the gentle sun while his lover surveys him.

"Tell me, good Hunter."

"Hm?" The Hunter looks up from his dinner of pork and calamari. An odd combination, to be sure, but one must take advantage of the food that presents itself during the hunt. "What is it?"

"What is your favorite color?" She asks, tilting her head.

"What's yours?"

"I asked you first."

"Ladies first."

The Doll growls, not ready to back down.

"You will tell me," she snarls.

"Yes. After you tell me."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"NO!"

"YES!"

They both sit back, panting, neither stubborn lover willing to back down.

"Very well. I have been meaning to test your mettle. Let us see if you are a good hunter, good Hunter. Let us Duel!" The Doll cries. The Hunter gasps. "Karina, you know I could never fight yo-"

A segmented hand appears at his chest, hitting it and sending him hurtling through the workshop doorway. The Hunter rolls, once, twice, before skidding to a halt on his feet, his right hand trailing in the dirt. The Doll sashays through the doors, wielding a threaded cane in her left hand and a church pick in her right.

Her hair sways in the breeze, uninhibited. She had forgone her usual garb, opting instead for her corset without her trademark shawl. She wears long, elbow length gloves, thin and flexible. Her Yharnam hunter boots, polished to a mirror sheen, clack across the stone.

It is now that the Hunter has a sudden realization. The Doll has been here from the beginning. She has had decades or more to train and gain proficiency with the weapons of the workshop if she so wished. But no, that is impossible. She is not the sort to do such a thing.

The Doll tosses the church pick into the air, extending as it twirls. With a flick of her wrist, the threaded cane splits into a whip, and she sends it flying to wrap around the pick. With a mighty heave, she smashes it down where it leaves a small crater in the brick. She walks sultrily towards the pick, hefting it as if it is a mere toy.

The Hunter's jaw drops. "Oh, bollocks."

Two minutes in and the Hunter could already tell he was in for the fight of his life. He dodges to the left as an untransformed church pick flies past him, burying itself in the great tree.

"Come now," the Doll chides. "How do you plan on winning if you only run away and show that delectable bottom of yours?"

The Hunter blushes, then quickly shakes his head and concentrates on the fight. She was doing this on purpose; trying to embarrass him to draw his attention away from the fight. He had a funny feeling that her outfit was formulated to do the same. Not that he was complaining.

The Hunter jumps as the Doll yanks her chain, sending her church pick flying past the airborne Hunter and into her hand. The Hunter lands, and quick as a flash she darts forward to pinch his bottom. The Hunter squeeks, jumping back.

"Wha- Karina!"

She giggles, twirling her pick around lazily.

"Better stay focused, darling," she coos sweetly. "Or you'll die."

A.N. It seems the Doll is becoming more and more human-like...Especially when it comes to her libido. I feel bad for the poor Hunter; he has his work cut out for him.


	9. Expansion

The Hunter flies through the air, launched by a sweeping strike from the Doll's church pick. She doesn't let up, dashing forward to strike, only to knee the Hunter in the stomach. She feels little guilt for causing him pain like this; the harder this is for him, the easier the hunt will be.

The Hunter strafes around her, ducking as she pirouettes, creating a vortex of steel. He dashes towards her, sticking an untransformed threaded cane between her legs to send her tumbling. Her grip on the church pick loosens, and the Hunter wrenches it from her grasp. She quickly handsprings to her feet, twisting the Hunter's arm and grabbing his cane. Now armed with two, she flicks her wrists, extending them both. With a smirk, she swings one of them. The Hunter stays still, knowing that she is out of range.

She twirls around, hooking one whip around the handle of the other. With lightning speed, it flies towards him, impaling him through the shoulder. The Doll yanks, and he stumbles towards her, only to be knocked back by a high kick connecting with the underside of his chin. He lands painfully on his back looking at the Doll. He gasps.

Her leg is still raised above her head, giving him an eye full of a pair of black stockings, complete with garter belts, as well as lacy undergarments. All look to be hand-sewn, only noticeable because the fabric is the same as her skirt. The Doll lowers her leg and slowly walks towards him, deliberately swaying her hips in an exaggerated manner.

As she gets closer to him, she breaks into a sprint, shoving him into the great tree so hard that leaves cascade down around them. While the Hunter is still dazed, she puts a hand on his chest, slowly sliding it down to his hips where his gun is holstered. She draws it, placing it against his head with an erotic, low moan.

The Hunter closes his eyes, waiting for the bullet. Instead, he feels a pair of warm, plump, soft lips pressing against his own, her tongue pressing into his mouth. She pushes against him, and once more the breath is driven from his lungs. She smiles against his lips, dropping her whips and roaming her hands around his body, tracing every curve and caressing every muscle.

The Hunter struggles for breath. The Doll, however, does not need to breathe, and never pulls away. The last thing the hunter sees before fading into unconsciousness is the Doll licking her lips.

A cold wind blows across the dream, kicking up snow and sending a chill through Quork as she ambles around, getting her daily exercise. The snow around her is trampled and swept, made by the Hunter and the Doll in one of their many duels. They would fight every day, the Hunter honing his skills against the Doll.

The Dream is barely recognisable. No longer is it the lofty little island it once was; Wooden platforms surround it, lined with small cabins forming intricate maze-like alleyways. All are empty, but the Hunter clings to the hope that more hunters would appear. They could not all be blood drunk... could they?

Platforms weave between the branches of the great tree, connecting the frames of rooms that have yet to be built. The Hunter has advanced greatly in his building of the dream, but at a price.

He abandoned the Hunt.

No choice was left. Ludwig was too powerful a foe, strengthened by the blood echoes of thousands of hunters. So the Hunter would train with the Doll for so long that he lost track of time. So far, no hunters had come.

"Good Hunter, come quickly!"

The Hunter bounds down the stairs. "What, what is it?!"

"Look," she replies, pointing to the ground. A group of messengers crowd there, holding up a grotesque prize. "It's an... Eye."

The Hunter bends down to pick it up.

"Yellowed... Torn optic nerve, likely before death... And it's- it's seeing."

How could it be?" The Doll replies. "How do you know?"

"It's still wet. And the eye itself... it's clouded, but I can tell there is something there, watching. But for this to survive, it must not belong to a mere beast," He says with a grim tone. "This belongs to a hunter, and a powerful one at that. He gave this to the messengers. He's beckoning us."

"To what end?" The Doll whispers.

"I don't know. But we cannot end this nightmare alone, and more people perish every moment." He turns to the gravestones, looking at them forlornly.

"The hunt is on."


	10. Maria

"Oh, hello. Not a pretty sight, is it?

The true face of the blood-worshipping, beast-purging Healing Church.

But that's not all.

You seek the secrets field by the Nightmare, do you not?

Then here's what you must do.

Climb the Astral Clocktower, and kill Maria.

She hides the real secret…"

Maria. Never before had the Hunter heard of one so loved and feared. The abominations throughout the Research Hall cry for her, begging for her caring touch. The beasts lumbering about flinch at the mere mention of her name.

It is clear that she has not ventured from the clock tower for quite some time.

Through hushed whispers and loud cries, hidden reports and half finished journals, the Hunter came to know the woman quite well. A noble of Cainhurst turned hunter, she quickly rose through the ranks of the healing church, etching herself into legend with the blood of her enemies.

Apparently she's quite gorgeous as well, though the Hunter doubted she could hold a candle to the Doll. He had yet to meet someone who could.

His legs aching from climbing so many flights of stairs, his muscles burning from fighting the grotesque failures surrounding the Lumenwood, the Hunter gathers his strength and pushes open the large doors of the clocktower. They creak and groan in protest, slowly swinging open to reveal a tall figure slumped in it's chair.

The Hunter slowly walks towards it, weapon drawn. There is only one person it could be.

Maria.

A pool of blood lays at her feet, and the Hunter can see a thin red line across the pale skin of her neck. He moves forward cautiously, reaching to grab her wrist for a pulse.

Suddenly, the gloved hand shoots out, grasping his wrist hard enough to send pain shooting up his entire arm. A voice, soft and gently accented, rings through the air like an angel's call. A voice that would warm the Hunter's heart, were it not so familiar. The brim of her tricorn reveals her face as she slowly tilts her head up. "A corpse... Should be left well alone."

The Hunter stares at her face. "K-Karina?!" He gasps incredulously. The same face, the same height, the same dominating strength, yet from a body of flesh and bone! Tears well up in his eyes. "KARINA!" He shouts, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Maria's eyes widen; has this fool hunter lost his mind? Dozens upon dozens of hunters she has slain, all with the same look of startled recognition on their faces, yet all still fought her. They never called her by another name, and certainly didn't hug her. Is this man mad?

"How?!" The Hunter cries. "How did you become human?!" He beams at her, then kisses her fiercely without waiting for an answer. That jerked Maria into action. Drawing her Rakuyo, she knees him in the groin, then jumps back as he slumps to the floor.

"Owww, my Messenger bag!" The Hunter cries in a shrieking voice. He looks up at her, seeing a cocksure gleam in Maria's eyes that the Doll would never have. She's more like to have a haughty, dominant expression, or a motherly one. "You're not Karina," he says stupidly.

"No," Maria replies. "But I know she has a stupid lover."

"How could you know that?"

Maria stares at him.

"Ohhh. HEY-"

Maria dashes forward, kicking his face and sending him tumbling back to the floor. He rolls backwards, springing to his feet. He draws his Chikage from his shoulder, grasping it with two hands without using blood to coat the blade. "A blood blade?!" Maria snarls. "Only those of no skill or honor rely on bloodtinge." The Hunter silently strafes her, shuffling awkardly from his damaged 'Messenger bag.'

Maria rips apart her rakuyo, bringing down the dagger, then the sword in an overhead slash. The Hunter stick out his right arm, and the dagger bounces off of the metal plating on his forearm. His blade turns to meet hers, and they clash in a shower of sparks. Maria tries to stab him with her free hand, only for the Hunter to redirect it and grab her slender wrist. The Hunter's knees start to bend, Maria's size and strength giving her an advantage.

The Hunter's knees go weak as he stares up at Maria's flawless face. Despite the circumstances, he feels himself getting aroused. Over time he has been constantly dominated his love, and now that this woman who is her spitting image is doing the same, he can't help but grow hot.

With no time to waste, he leans forward, slicing open his cheek on Maria's blade. The blood pours down onto his Chikage, and bloody tendrils snake down the blade and harden to trap her sword. She drops the now-useless steel, flinging her dagger to her other hand. With a twist and a slap, the Hunter hits a nerve in her arm, ripping the blade from her slack hand. He tosses it in the air, where is sticks to a rafter, quivering. He holds up his fists and drops into a fighting stance, his cut scarf fluttering off his face. Maria stares briefly, mouth open, before stepping back.

"Very well," She purrs. She slowly pulls off her gloves, revealing long, slender fingers with long, neatly trimmed, slightly sharp nails. The people of Cainhurst are renowned for their nails, as well as their tall statures, pale skin, light hair, and powerful, dominant women.

Ten minutes later and Maria has lived up to the stereotypes. The Hunter is a bruised, bloody mess. He feints, slinging a punch from the right before dashing forward to restrain her. His efforts earn him the toe of a sharp, polished high heel to the stomach.

The Hunter regains his footing, dashing forward and slamming his fist into her left cheek, where an ugly bruise forms on her pale skin.

The Hunter's eyes go wide, and he drops his gaurd, staring at his hands with a terrified look of guilt. He stumbles backwards, tripping over their discarded weapons to land in a heap on the rickety floor. Maria walks up to him and slams her high heel onto his chest, putting her hand on her hip and staring down at him with a look of disgust. She clicks her tongue. "So weak," she says seductively. She leans down, cupping his chin to look at the bruises. She clicks her tongue once more. "My, my, my. How have you made it this far, little hunter?"

His eyes are hazy from blood loss, going in and out of focus. Her nails are blades of their own, cutting through his clothes to leave small, but vicious cuts. Maria tightens her grip on his chin, leaning ever closer to stare into his eyes. "Answer me, you feckless weakling." She grinds her heel on his chest.

"Her."

Maria cocks an eyebrow. "Her... This Karina of yours, yes?"

"Please," He croaks. "She's trapped. I want so much more for her... But she can't leave, and I can't leave without her." Tears form in his eyes as he confesses. "You look exactly like her. You have to be connected. You have to. Please... Help her. Help her," he whispers, slowly drifting towards unconsciousness.

Maria sighs, releasing him and kicking the wall, dislodging her dagger. She catches it point-down, then slowly draws it across the inside of her plump lips as the Hunter looks at her with fading eyes. She gathers blood in her mouth, then pulls the Hunter up, supporting him with her arm on his back. She carresses his chin, nudging it open. Taking a deep breath, she leans forward and kisses him gently, slowly feeding him her blood as she moans despite herself.

The Hunters eyes widen, and he is swept up in the bliss of being kissed and fed powerful, intoxicating blood all at once. He can only think one thing before he drifts into unconsciousness.

"Karina is going to kill me."

The Hunter wakes, his senses on fire. The room is awash in vivid colors, brightly lit now. He can smell old wood and rusty brass, along with the smell of leather, blood, and a sweet Lumenwood perfume. A gentle thumping emanates from his right, with the smells of blood dense around it. Twisting his head, he looks to find Maria, cleaning her blade with a bloody rag. Sunlight streams across her lower body, but where before the shade would hide her face, he can now see it as bright as day. He can see every flawless pore, every subtle twitch, and every thick, luscious lash on her eyelids.

Her voice cuts through the silence, now louder and clearer. "That blood should aid you on your journey. Goodbye."

"I'm not leaving," the Hunter replies. "Please. At least try."

Maria looks at the floor. "I cannot," she sighs. "I must gaurd the secrets of the church, lest someone use the knowledge to commit more atrocities."

"But the clocktower face is still. It is impassable."

"Quite. And I must gaurd the key." She holds out a large disc, lined with grooves and gears.

"But... It's a key," the Hunter says slowly. "You can take it with you, you know. If you can't take a key with you, it defeats the purpose of a key, doesn't it?"

Maria stares incredulously at him, mouth agape. The Hunter looks at her with condescension, disbelief, and a bit of pity.

"You're not very bright, are you?"

SMACK!

"Ugh... My Messenger bag..."


	11. Opposing Profiles

The still air of the dream shimmers, and the outline of the Hunter slowly appears.

The Doll gathers her skirts, trotting towards him, eager to hear of his discovery. The air shimmers once more, and another, taller figure is outlined, slowly phasing into the dream. The Doll steps back in shock.

It's herself. Her garb and hair are different, to be sure. The Doll's hair is as straight and smooth as silk, pure white like a field of snow. The other woman's hair is blonde, yet so light that one could mistake it for off-white. Her hair is very slightly wavy, swept behind her head into a disheveled ponytail. Her clothes are unmistakably of Cainhurst design; such beatiful, elaborate designs, yet still utilitarian, the durable stitching weaving together thick pieces of cloth and leather to make a long black overcoat.

The Doll reels, stumbling back to sit at her usual perch. Too many thoughts are rushing through her head, leaving her unable to think clearly. "Good Hunter... What is... Who..."

Maria looks on in equal shock. "The old workshop..." She turns to the Hunter. "This is who you spoke of?!"

He nods. Maria takes a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Well, she is beautiful," she jokes shakily. The Doll looks her over.

"Good Hunter, who is this?" She asks.

"This is Maria, one of the old hunters," he replies. "She's here to help us end the hunt, as well as..."

"As well as?"

"As well as help you. Escape the Dream, I mean," he says. "Maria was once Gehrman's student. It can be no mere coincidence that you two share the same appearance."

The Doll looks up, irritated. "I fail to see how this harlot could help me," she says. "Mere appearances do not grant the ability to do such a thing."

"Harlot?!" Maria says incredulously.

"I'm grasping at straws here, Karina," the Hunter replies.

Maria pinches the bridge of her nose, looking the Doll up and down. "Your hands..." She whispers. "You're a... Doll?"

The Hunter intervenes before a fight erupts. Difficult to tell who would win, really. "This won't happen overnight. But either way, Maria can help us end this nightmare." He looks to her pleadingly, and she is shocked to find desperation in his eyes, his face pleading.

"I suppose," she mutters, blushing. The Doll's eyes narrow, displeased with this turn of events. Walking over to the Hunter, she places a hand protectively on his chest, pulling his head to her own chest. She glares at Maria pointedly. Ally or no, she dislikes her double, thanks in no small part to the fact that she is the only other person in the dream. The Doll had never had to worry about contending for affection; indeed, until recently she had never even felt this sort of feeling. She worries that the Hunter might be drawn to Maria, due to her appearance.

"Fine," she says tersely. "Let us retire to our bed, Dear." She grabs his arm, guiding him. He pulls back.

"Hold on! We need to get Maria settled."

The Doll grimaces, but ultimately relents; like it or not, it is her duty to tend to any hunter who may pass through the Dream.

Maria takes a room on the top floor of the small, newly built village down by the hill. She gently sits on the bed, kicking off her boots to reveal her slender feet, the toenails painted bright red. "I have grown quite accustomed to high places," she confides in the two. "They feel so safe, so isolated from the horrors of the hunt."

The Doll looks at her figure as she slides out of her long overcoat. It slides over her slender shoulders, and the light illuminates the supple curves of her body. She has modestly sized breasts, and her waist is thin and swoops into her ample hips. The Doll's eye twitches. Her own form was nearly identical, but it lacks the luster, the pliability, the life that Maria has. A tearstone drops to the floor as the Doll turns, her shawl fluttering. She runs down the stairs, taking them two at a time before she slams the door open.

It's not fair. Ages and ages, thousands of hunters, all cold and indifferent to her, and when she finally encounters a hunter who sees her not as a tool, but as a woman...

A better her appears. As if from nowhere. The Doll grits her teeth, angry and hurt. How could he even think to bring her here?

She slows to a stop at the small wood behind the workshop, falling to her knees. She hears a tiny groan, and looks up to see Adam looking at her from the messenger bath, frowning. she picks him up and holds him close, tearstones littering the ground beneath her.

Maria gaurds the door, preventing the Hunter from chasing after the Doll. "She needs time by herself. Leave her be for now."

"How would you know?!" The Hunter snaps.

Maria sighs, giving him an exasperated smirk. "Because doll or not, she is still a girl. And girls understand girls."

"Like I said, how would you- AGH!"

Maria slugs his stomach, her height and momentum lifting him slightly. Just like the Doll, Maria's punches pack a wallop.

She sits on the bed, sliding off her opulent leggings, leaving her in naught but a white dress shirt barely covering her panties. The Hunter stands up shakily, and Maria pats the bed, motioning for him to sit next to her. He complies, heart thumping from being so close to one who looks like his love. Maria leans over and wraps her arms around him, and the Hunter draws a quick breath, prepared to push her off. But...

Something stops him. Her embrace isn't sensual, nor mere friendliness. Just like the feeling the Doll gives him, It's romantic, friendly, and motherly all at the same time. Her body, larger than his due to her Cainhurst heritage, is protective, and he involuntarily slides into a relaxed stupor. His arms go slack, his face tingles, and a strange floating sensation overcomes him.

Just like when he is with the Doll. Should he be feeling this way? Is sharing this moment with someone so similar to her considered a betrayal? The circumstances are so unique that there is no clear answer.

Maria is soft despite how toned and lithe she is. She is smooth to the touch, goosebumps rising on her arms as the Hunter lazily caresses her skin. The glow of her skin, the reaction to touch, the smooth, subtle curves, all things that the Doll lacks. It lights a desire in him, a desire that feels different from his desire of the Doll. A desire to nourish her, to care for her every need, to rear young with her... All the previously forgotten urges, the result of millions of years of evolution, come flooding back, powerful and intoxicating.

What if the Doll couldn't change, become human? Would these urges drive him to Maria instead, against his will? The Hunter feels a rising in his chest, and he tries in vain to stamp it down. Maria is already so similar to the Doll... Is it possible that he loves her already...?

His thoughts swirl around his head like angry bees, stinging him with guilt.

Maria and the Doll are two sides of the same coin. Both share appearance, sympathy, and kindness, but their individual personalities are complete opposites. One, prim and proper, quiet and calm. One, Tomboyish and brash, boisterous and mischievous.

The Hunter sighs, drifting off into sleep, cradled in Maria's arms. Unanswered questions, nagging doubts, and paralyzing fears plague his mind as he drifts off, one question dominating all others.

Does he love two people, or one?


	12. Haven Conflicts

The Doll sits at the foot of the great tree, nestled away among twisting roots and soft, lush grass. Only the echo of the wind can be heard, the rocks and greenery blocking out the elements. Her stark white finger strokes the bark. She can't feel it, per se, but she can sense the rough texture, the bumps and ridges, and the dents and nicks it has accrued from her bouts with the Hunter. The Hunter...

How could he not know how Maria would make her feel? "Stupid tramp... With her urine-colored hair and her moronic equestrian hairstyle." The Doll mutters. She had been lazing about the dream ever since the Hunter had embarked on a reconnaissance mission with Maria. The fact that it's a search for information to help the Doll still doesn't improve her mood.

"Idiotic Hunter, with his useless bandages and impractical weapons. Saws are for wood, you simpleton."

A tremor goes through her body, and she frowns. Ever since Maria's appearance, strange feelings well up in her chest. Her body would grow warm, and she would unconsciously clench her slender fingers. Whenever she thinks of the Hunter and Maria together, it becomes difficult for her to breathe, and an agonizing ache settles in her chest. Are these feelings normal for humans? Or is this unique to her, a punishment for being an abomination made in the likeness of another?

The Doll draws her knees up to her chest, folding her arms atop them and burying her head in their crook. Her face contorts, scrunching and clenching, fighting back tears.

But the small stones still litter the ground after she leaves.

The Doll is practicing with her oversized kusarigama when the two Hunters return from the dream. Maria is laughing heavily, and the Hunter has a wide smile upon his face.

I'd like to wipe that smile off with my foot, the Doll thinks, the vitriolic sentiment surprising even herself.

"Oh gosh, you did not, you buffoon," Maria says. "Only you would try to propel a cart with a whirligig saw. So? Did you fail spectacularly or just regularly?"

The Hunter looks sheepish. "It worked a little too well. The cart was small and light, so it was quite fast. So fast, in fact, that the wheels were snapped when I attempted to turn. Next time I'll attach it to the front..."

Maria bursts out laughing once more. "You're going to 'drive' yourself mad." She punches him 'lightly' on the shoulder, and he is knocked off balance, overcompensating and falling on Maria. The two collapse to the ground in a heap.

"My, my, Hunter," Maria coos. "How forward." Her eyes widen, and she grabs the Hunter and rolls to the side. The Doll's Church Pick comes flying down, burying itself in the cobblestone and sending shards of rock across the courtyard.

"Beg pardon." The Doll says flatly. "My hand slipped."

"You could have killed us!" Maria shouts, pushing the Hunter aside.

"The Hunter would have just woken up at the headstone," the Doll replies.

Maria scowls. "What about me? I'm not tied to the Dream!"

The Doll glares at her. "Like I said..."

Maria's eyes widen. "You vindictive harpy! Get your own face!"

The Doll glares at her, the murder in her eyes telling Maria that she had struck a nerve. Satisfied, she whirls around and stalks away. "Come on, Hunter." She grabs his arm, her immense strength yanking him up like he is a doll. "I found a lovely corset, and I need you to help me put it on." She smirks at the Doll, the Hunter blissfully unaware of the veiled jabs between the two tall beauties.

The Doll grabs his other arm. "This is my Hunter," she growls. "Perhaps you could help relieve a blood addled hunter, though he might be a little too civil for you." The Hunter sucks in a breath, sensing a storm brewing.

"let's go, Hunter," Maria says hotly. "You've spent plenty of time with her. I have been alone for years, stuck in that dreadful clocktower."

"Good Hunter, I forbid you from galavanting about with this hussy!"

"Hunter, she doesn't own you!"

"Good Hunter!"

"Hunter!"

"ENOUGH!" The Hunter roars. With a mighty heave that nearly dislocates his shoulders, he yanks the two tall women together, where their heads collide with a painful SMACK!

The two pale-haired women fall backard, landing on their shapley behinds.

"Cut the shit!" The Hunter yells, grabbing each of their collars and pulling their faces close to his. "You think I'm not having a hard enough time without you two sickly-looking ghosts bickering!? You think it's easy to be friends with someone who looks exactly like your love?! Do you think I don't feel like scum for liking both of you!?"

He roughly shoves them both away and stands, turning to leave. The Doll and Maria both scramble to their feet, grabbing for him.

"Good Hunter-"

"Hunter-"

"SHUT UP!" He swats their hands away. Each time they speak, he is further reminded of who they are. The Deserter and the Replica. The Lady and the Love. Karina and Maria. The same coin.

He kneels at the headstone, and vanishes into the waking world.

The stale Yharnam air shimmers, and the Hunter shifts into existence. He stands, taking a deep breath, recognizing the scent of wood, soil, and the faintest hint of the blood and rot that chokes the city.

The Old Workshop creaks, and a garbled scream echoes over the chasm from the city. Ironically enough, the place responsible for training the most skillful hunters is also the safest. If one wished to reach it, they would have to fight through the blood soaked streets of Yharnam, pass the incense barrier to Oedon Chapel, ascend the elevator without being pumped full of quicksilver bullets by a townsman, fall distances not survivable by any human, and finally unlock the door to the workshop with a special key.

The Hunter had stumbled upon it quite by accident; foolishly, he had used a weak hand lantern instead of a torch, and he plunged through the darkness of the chapel tower. After a few painful impacts, he landed on a wooden platform facing a large, ornately carved door.

The Old Workshop had become his refuge, away from the hunt, the Doll, Maria, and everything and anything. It's so isolated that one can feel detached from any problem, the Cherrywood and coldblood flowers giving it a warm, hazy atmosphere.

But most of all, it housed someone... Something he could tell his problems to, his darkest secrets. Something new, yet familiar. Something inanimate, yet friendly.

Something that may be the key to saving his love, should the dream fall.

It housed a doll.


	13. Convergence

The waking world doll sits, lifeless, while the Hunter broods pensively. Certainly, he has to be the only one to have ever dealt with a situation like this. Two women, inexorably linked, with the same appearance and many of the same mannerisms, both vying for his attention. The Hunter loves the Doll, no question. But Maria...

The Hunter sighs. "I bet you never thought you'd have to deal with this," he says to the lifeless doll. "Sometimes, I wish I would be like you used to be. Quiet, emotionless, content... Not a care in the world." The doll doesn't reply. She never has.

The Hunter leans forward, gently picking up the doll and cradling it. It is cold; It's body is hard, not pliant like his Doll. He feels a gentle wiggling at his stomach, looking down to see her finger... Moving?!

He quickly sets it down, startled. His Doll had done the same thing, but that was in the dream... How could...?

Insight. Insight is all. Insight shall turn the most foolish of men into the progenitor of a new age. Magic turns into logic, and logic turns into trivial knowledge.

The Hunter closes his eyes, thinking hard. The Doll would have sprung forth as she was, as an adult. No amount of insight from a Great One would turn an infant into an adult. But if she were formed from someone else, a personality split apart, she would harbor many of the same traits. Maria resided in the nightmare, while the Doll would reside in the dream. What would happen with the two in the same realm?

There is no doubt that they both have changed since meeting each other. The Doll has become more hot-tempered and passionate, Maria, affectionate and easygoing. Maria could leave the dream, so couldn't the Doll do the same? With both in the waking world, what would happen to them, once free of the Great One's influence? The Hunter steels himself. The hunt can't last forever. Eventually, the beasts will overrun the townspeople, killing all. He can't let that happen.

Ending the hunt would mean ending the Dream, and the Doll with it. So he just has to take her with him.

The chilly air of the dream shimmers, and the Hunter stands at the foot of the gravestone. The Doll rests at the foot of the stairs as usual, while Maria sits on the ledge above the messenger bath, play-fighting Adam with model saw cleavers.

The Hunter approaches the Doll. "Good Hunter." She greets him tersley, her head still Hunter smiles. Nothing could put him in a bad mood now. He walks up to her, placing his hands on her face and lifting it up, planting a kiss right on her lips. Her eyes go wide as he slips a tongue in, only to narrow, clearly angered by his disregard of her feelings. Her resistance doesn't last long, however, as the Hunter wraps his arms around her, deepening the kiss. Her face heats up, and her eyelids flutter, all strength leaving her as she submits to the pleasure.

Finally, the Hunter pulls back, beaming. "Karina, let's leave this place."

The Doll frowns. "good Hunter, I cannot leave. My body can move only in the dream."

"With my insight," the Hunter replies. "With enough insight, you should be able to live in the waking world! When I was away, I found your waking world body, and it's finger was moving, just like yours before I gained insight."

"I-I, I do not know, good Hunter..."

He takes her hands in his. "We could go anywhere we want! We could go home, to my home, or the mountains, or anywhere in the world! With insight and the Great One's power, we could even get you a body!"

The Doll looks up, hope in her eyes. "A body? My own body?" The Hunter nods.

"Please," he whispers. "I want so much more for you." He presses his forehead to hers, staring into her eyes. The Doll looks as if she is about to cry, but she shakes her head and gives a shaky giggle.

"You can't fool me, good Hunter," she says.

"You just want to do naughty things to me, don't you?"

The Hunter laughs, hugging her tighter. "All. Night. Long." They both laugh, staring into each others eyes. Maria gives a noise of disgust, equal parts repulsed and envious. Adam mimes a gag.

"Well, shall we?" The Hunter asks.

She nods. "I have never had need nor want to leave, so I have never tried... But if what you say is true, then there is nothing stopping me."

"Don't forget me," Maria chimes in. "If you think you can just gallavant off with my friend wrapped around your little finger, then think again, dolly."

The Doll continues holding the Hunter not even acknowledging her. Maria's eye twitches. Being someone's other half means you really know how to push their buttons.

The three unusual companions stand at the foot of the Yharnam gravestone. "Ready?" Asks the Hunter.

"Ready."

"Ready." The two platinum blond beauties reply simultaneously. With their slavic accents and voices the same, hearing them both talk at the same time is rather unsettling.

"Alright. One... Two... Three!"

With the two women on either side of him, they touch the grave as the air shimmers and whisks the trio away.

The Hunter stands, the air tainted with the faint scent of blood and mayhem. Yep, they're in Yharnam, all right. He looks around. Maria lays on the ground, groaning. A spike of fear runs through the Hunter as he realizes he doesn't see the Doll.

"Maria! Maria!" He shakes the tall tomboy awake. "Where is Karina? What happened!?"

"Right here. Are you quite alright, good Hunter?" Maria replies.

"Now is not the time for impressions," the Hunter snarls.

"Impressions..?" Maria says quizzically. She looks down at herself. "Good Hunter, did you put me in these horrendous,

man-ish clothes?" She reaches out to touch them, gasping as she looks at her fingers. "Flesh..." She whispers, rubbing her hands together slowly.

"K-Karina?" The Hunter whispers.

"Good Hunter... Is this Maria's...?"

The Doll's expression jerks, and her brows furrow.

"Yes. Yes it is." She says tersley. "And I'll thank you not to insult my clothes."


	14. Impeding the Rooster

A.N. Smut this chapter. Also, There will eventually be a 1 yr (in the story) gap in this fic and my Bloodborne fic, as well as my other dark souls fic. A new fic will take place during the gap, featuring characters from all three, mainly Priscilla, Sær, the Hunter, the Doll, Firekeeper, and the Ashen One.

This way I can update all of them without breaking continuity. As usual, O.L.T. will take priority, followed by M.T.G.

A.N.F. will go largely un-updated.

"ICK! Ick ick ick ick ick ick ICK!"

The Doll hops up and down, flapping her hands as if trying to rid herself of a particularly nasty bug. "Oh no, oh no, oh no, no no no no NO!" She begins to hyperventilate, her eyes wide with panic. "Good Hunter! You have to get me out of here! Now now now now now!" She grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him vigorously, causing his head to loll back and forth.

"Ka-ha-ha-ri-ri-naaaa!" He blurts out, his words impeded by the shaking. "Ca-ha-lm Dow-n!"

She finally lets go of him, her whole body shaking. "I'm a trollop," she whispers. "I'm a tramp, I'm a strumpet, a tart, a hussy!"

Her face twitches and becomes angry.

"Excuse me?! At least my body

is, or was, my own, and not some cheap imitation!"

"M-maria?" The Hunter whispers incredulously. "Is that you?"

Maria- for indeed it is she- scoffs. "I'm not stuck in some porcelain monstrosity, that's for sure."

"You vile, tawdry whore!"

"Bring it on, doll-face! I'm not afraid to beat me!"

The Hunter sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is getting confusing. "Quiet, both of you." He reaches out to hug them- or her-, stroking their back soothingly. She sighs twice, melting into the embrace.

Suddenly, she pulls back. "Wha-? Good Hunter, something strange is happening to me!"

The Hunter's brow furrows worryingly. "What is it? Are you alright?"

"I don't know... My... My loins are moist! What is going on?!"

The Hunter sucks in a breath. "Maria, have you had anything to drink recently?"

"Not for a few decades, no," she replies, briefly taking control from the Doll.

"And do you... Um... Are you... Is it that time?"

"What, can I get my moon's blood during blood moons? No, I can't."

"So what could..."

They are both silent, pondering.

"Oh. Ohh," they both say in unison.

The Hunter looks at her pleadingly. "Say, Maria, you're a girl-"

"Thanks for noticing."

"-And who better to explain this-"

"Oooh no," Maria interrupts. "Not upon your life. She's your doll, you can explain it to her."

Her face twitches. "Explain what, good hunter?"

His face turns beet red. "Well, you see, Karina... When a Doll and a Hunter love each other very much-"

"Too much."

"Quiet, Maria. Eventually, they might want to express their love beyond-"

"The sickening manner they have been doing it with thus far."

"Shut up, Maria. The Doll, she, um, gets wet. Down there."

"Why?" The Doll asks, tilting her head.

"Oh boy," the Hunter mutters. "Be-because the Hunter's, um, pistol gets engorged. And he can't, uh, shoot his bullet and visceral attack, unless the Doll is wet." His face is practically aflame now.

"Oh," the Doll responds, pondering. "Oh... Ohhh." Her face is equally red now.

"So when you embraced me..."

"Yes."

"And that means that I want to mate with you?"

"Yes."

"And that would stop this feeling?

"Very well." The Doll begins to unbutton her cloak.

"Ka-ka-karina! What are you doing?!" The Hunter stammers.

"I cannot wait any longer," the Doll snarls. "I have been feeling this way for quite some time now, and it has gotten worse now that I have a body. Now I have the ability to carry out my desires." She pushes the Hunter to the ground with one hand, undoing the buttons to her undershirt.

She shrugs it off, kicking off her boots with her pants quickly following. She stands over the Hunter menacingly, clad in nothing but lacy, pearl-colored under garments. "May I ask why you have these, you scheming whore?" The Doll asks Maria. She doesn't answer.

"And let me make myself perfectly clear. If you take control while the Hunter and I are together, then so help me Kos-"

"Some say Kosm," the Hunter chimes in.

"Then so help me Kosm I will fling this body of a bridge and let the swine eat it."

Maria emits a squeak, shrinking into herself, terrified of the Doll's wrath. The Doll leans down to her lover, ripping his clothes off with her immense strength.

The Hunter doesn't make a sound, too fearful to complain. The Doll is panting now, her heart thudding in her chest. She places her knee on his stomach, her hands pinning his shoulders to the ground. She leans down, wrestling a kiss from him as their bodies press together.

Deep inside her own consciousness, Maria's head lights up, her lips tingling. 'What? I can feel it too?' The Hunter hesitantly grasps the Doll's hips, and and Both she and Maria groan, the touch setting their nerves alight. The Hunter finally gives in, his desire washing away any worries or doubts he may have had about making love on the Yharnam streets.

Freeing his manhood from the ruined remains of his trousers, he pumps it, hissing. The Doll straddles him, their most sensitive points rubbing together, and they moan quietly. Their movements are clumsy, and the Hunter keeps slipping, unable to enter.

Maria, the only non-virgin in the trio, groans. Had it truly been this awkward during her first time? She recalls simply grinding left to right on the man while he was inside her. She remembers his grunts of pain, which she had mistaken for pleasure, causing her to work back and forth even harder.

'Yes. It was this awkward.'

The Hunter finally finds his mark, finally, and the two sigh as they are about to begin their long-awaited union.

"GAHAHAH, HAGGGGH, AKAGH, HACK HACK HACK! H-Hunter, is that you? Are you well? Please, come hither. I fear I am not long for this world and I have something I wish to give you, something that will aid you in your hunt. Please... I can feel the madness encroaching upon my vision... KU-HUGH, HAAAGHK!"

The Doll's eyes bug out of her head, furious and half-mad with lust. The Hunter sighs, using more willpower than he knows he has to pull away from the Doll.

"Yes, Gilbert. I'm coming." 'Well, I was going to be, at least. Damn Gilbert and his unbelievable timing."


	15. Mother's Haven

Life constantly begins in the Dream. Hunters die and are reborn, and echoes are channeled to improve skills so that hunters may save yet more lives. It has an unbreakable connection to each hunter, and no other place will feel like home.

The Old Workshop, too, has an irresistible draw. Isolated, safe, sheltered, comfortable. An umbilical cord, attached to the mind of each hunter, tethering them to sanity by offering a mother's haven.

It is here that the Hunter and the Doll retreat to.

The moment the fire is lit, the two are upon each other. The animalistic needs from their previous attempt have drained from them, leaving nothing but gentle affection.

In a flash, her clothes are off, and she stands by the fire, it's glow illuminating her tall, slender body. Not for the first time, the Hunter blows a breath of disbelief; disbelief that he could have someone so gorgeous to love him. The Doll walks forward and embraces him, her breasts laying against his neck and shoulders. He leans into her décolletage, breathing in her scent. It's much different from her original body's scent; instead of ink, smoke and lilac, it is instead a mixture of leather, perfume, and the indescribable, irresistible smell of woman. The Hunter breathes in deeply, his body slackening against the Doll, the bliss making it difficult to stand.

Wrapping his arms around her neck, the Hunter brings her down to his lips, eagerly slipping his tongue into her mouth. He pulls down to the ground, the tall woman toppling onto him but never once breaking the kiss. The Doll places her hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the floor as she grinds against him. After what seems like no time at all, she pulls away, a strand of drool between them. Her hands move from his shoulders to the buttons of his jacket, her long, slender fingers making quick work of it, along with the rest of his clothes.

Once the both of them are completely naked, she straddles him, leaning in to embrace him.

"Wait!" The Hunter says. "It's your first time. We should be careful. I don't want you to get hurt."

The Doll smirks. "I shall be fine. It is my first time, but this body's hundredth."

Her face twitches, and she cries out as her own fist connects with her cheek. Face twitching once more, she sucks in air through her teeth. "Vile wench," she curses.

"No matter. She is not the one with such a wonderful hunter~. Now... Where were we?"

With one quick movement, she lines up with his length and plunges down. The both of them gasp and hold on place, backs arched, mouths open. The Doll emits pleasured whimpers, curling forward to rest her head against his chest. The Hunter, seeing an opportunity, gives a quick, short thrust. The Doll goes limp, falling on top of him.

The Hunter lifts up his knees, pushing her up to rest on them. As soon as she is settled, he wastes no time thrusting into her viciously, smirking as she moans lewdly. He sits up, moving his legs so that the Doll lays on the floor. Grabbing her by the hips and lifting them, he slides his member into her again, the both of them moaning freely now.

Deep in the corner of her own mind, Maria bites her finger. Gods, it's been so long, she thinks as her thirst for sex is sated. The Pleasure runs through her just as intensely as it does for the Doll. Still, it feels off. Unearned, intrusive. The pain of seeing the lust and love he has for the Doll hurts enough to break through the haze of pleasure.

She had tried to win the Hunter, and she feels lousy for it. Could she truly blame the Doll, given her situation? She can't, but that doesn't change her feelings.

Maria had never had many friends. The Cainhurst way was of nobility and suspicion as much as it was of nostalgia and bombast. Instead of playing with dolls, young Maria had been given a needle and thread. In place of scuffles in the courtyard was passive aggression and snide remarks. Instead of living was the life of someone else, someone noble. Even after joining the hunters, her dedication to training left her with scant few friends.

Until one was literally delivered to her doorstep. One so isolated and lonely as Maria had no chance of keeping her feelings in check.

The Hunter thrusts once more, the ensuing bliss drawing her from her stupor.

'Outside' as it were, the Doll yelps, clinging to her lover for dear life. She clenches her inner walls, and the Hunter grunts in pleasure, slowing his pace to keep his peak at bay.

The Hunter pulls out, hauling her up as he stands. "Good Hunter, wha- AOH!"

He lays her on her side across the memory altar, lifting her leg up and clinging to it tightly as he pumps into her once more.

The Doll cries out again as the Hunter reaches her deepest, most intimate area. She scrunches her face up, tightening immensely. The Hunter groans, tightening his own grip as he thrusts into her even harder. In an instant, hesitation, consequences, and restraint vanish as his most primal urges take over. Millions of years of evolution cause his subconscious to take over, control removed and replaced with blind, frenzied lust.

The Doll lays on her back, leaning up slightly to embrace the Hunter. Inexperienced as she is, she can tell that they are both close to release. Mere minutes pass, feeling like both an eternity and a single second. The Doll's heart pounds in her ears, and a frightening wave of pleasure looms overhead.

The Hunter's pelvis brushes against her most sensitive of spots, and it crashes down onto her. She grips the Hunter painfully, and her legs straighten while her toes flex and curl, sreaming in pleasure all the while. Her womanhood clenches along his length, the silky fluids pouring from her easing his thrusts. Her body's encouragement pushes him over the edge, and he pumps one last time, burying his member in her to the hilt as he presses it's head against the entrance to her deepest, most sacred part.

The Hunter groans savagely, and the Doll locks her legs behind his back and pull him in deep, kissing him while they peak. The Hunter clenches, finally climaxing, filling her with his seed. Her mouth opens in a silent scream as the warmth coats her insides. She can hear blood rushing in her ears, and her mind goes numb with bliss. Her womanhood undulates along his length, drawing the last of his essence out from him. The both of them go slack, their sexes pulsing as their heavenly reward flows through their brains.

A pulse, a whisper, inhuman mutterings, and the woman gains two eyes on the inside.

Nearly a week after their first union, the two lovers lay together fervently, the Doll snatching Maria and whisking her away to the Old Workshop to use their body for lewd purposes.

On the seventh night, Maria sneaks away to Yharnam in an attempt to liberate her wild curiosity.

After hours of wandering near the edge of the city, Maria finally finds the sign she had hoped would exist.

~Iosefka's Clinic~

Maria grins. She knew that little snot would

grow up to be a fine doctor.

Pushing past the creaky gate, she climbs the bloodstained mahogany stairs, stopping at two large double doors.

Having heard her footsteps, a figure approaches the door.

"Hello?"

"Iosefka, it's me. Maria."

The doors fly open, and a beautiful young woman in a white dress flies out wrapping her arms around her. "Lady Maria!"

Maria squeezes her, ruffling her hair. "Alright, let go, ya' little brat."

Iosefka pulls back, giggling. "How? You look as if you haven't aged a day, let alone twenty years!"

"First, I need a favor..."

After a brisk walk through the square, Maria returns to find Iosefka stowing her microscope and cleaning the slide with the elder womans blood, seemingly successful in fulfilling her request. Iosefka gives her a nod, her expression unreadable.

Maria pales, a range of emotions swirling through her. "Are you certain?"

"The test leaves no room for errors. There are minute traces of human chorionic gonadotropin. I don't know how you may feel about this, Lady Maria, but the results are absolute. You are pregnant."


	16. Choices

A year has passed, and with it, another adventure. After a harrowing journey to stop the Ringed City from drawing in their world, our trio seperates from their new friends from Lordran and Lothric, and return home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Alas, this I cannot do. Very few Great Ones posses the power to clone a form. The Lady Maria has been moved to a new form once before, by the will of Kos, to protect her orphan from those who would do it harm. She has since abandoned that duty, and Kos is only way you could have of obtaining a form for the Lady Karina... Would be to strip the Lady Maria's mind of it's vessel and put it into a new one, so that it may be used by a new owner. The only remaining Great One with the power to do this is one very close to you. Maria must petition the Moon Prescence and become a hunter, gaining immortality... For the cost of a heinous choice is yours.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Hard to believe it another year has come and gone, good Hunter, is it not?"

"Aye," The Hunter replies. "Though no longer than a single night for Yharnam. With the beasts in the city gone, it's almost peaceful."

"But as long as the moon is so close..."

"People will keep turning into beasts, so long as they keep using the blood. I know," the Hunter responds.

The two sit quietly, staring out at the endless abyss of the dream.

"I do not think that woman will cooperate,"

the Doll says quietly. "I had held so much hope that I may have a body to call my own..." She grits her teeth. "And now... Now it all rests on her."

The Hunter is quiet for a moment before responding. "Maria understands the value of the hunt," he says quietly. "Now so more than ever. It was the church she hated. All of that slaughter and experimentation..."

"All from well-meant beginnings," the Doll adds. "A miracle that was twisted into a curse by human greed."

"But not by us," the Hunter says. "Gherman's hunters weren't under a hierarchy. All they had to do was hunt. Those who worked for the church did so of their own accord."

"Do you truly think she will become that which she hates, just to benefit me?"

The Hunter sighs, his head down. "I don't know."

Maria reclines on one of the gurneys at Iosefka's clinic. While her adventure in the Ringed city had allowed the child inside her to progress quite a bit, she had entered the stable period of the pregnancy. No longer was she plagued by morning sickness, and the worst of the mood swings had subsided, for now. Once she returned to Yharnam, the child's growth had halted, leaving her with just the barest bulge in her smooth Cainhurstian tummy.

A whirl of questions speed through her mind like angry bees. Firstly, would the baby be healthy? Would it even be human? There had been many complications when Auntie had Arianna, she thought. Human and Cainhurstian blood do not mix well.

Being Cainhurstian isn't as enjoyable as it seems, either. At an average of eight feet tall, traveling and finding suitable lodging were a struggle, and woe betide a human woman who lays with one from Cainhurst. The size differences make it all but impossible for a child to be born of human woman and a Cainhurst man.

Maria's great-aunt Annalise would be thrilled to hear of the pregnancy though. She knows from the Hunter that the queen constantly took blood dregs into herself, a desperate attempt to continue the line in the abscence of a pure-blood male.

Truth be told, Maria feels no connection nor sorrow for her mostly-late kinsmen.

A pompous and isolated people, they thought nothing of flaunting their use of special blood to 'better' themselves. Ultimately, that self-importance led to their downfall, and they were every one of them slaughtered by the jealous church.

Aside from the growing life inside her, she also has to contend with the words of the Great One they encountered in the Ringed City. She honestly has no problem with becoming a hunter once more; hunters have their own agenda nowadays, anyway. No more are there grand machinations to seize power and long life.

No, it was the loss of the child that gives her pause. Though it was created through an act by two others, this living embodiment of love, she feels that it is the only thing keeping her tethered to the Hunter. It's a sick, invasive action by her, and she loathes herself for even thinking of stealing so sacred.

But is it really so wrong? She thinks to herself. It is my child, after all... Shouldn't keeping it be my right? She shakes her head. "What do I do..."

Maria stands, slowly materializing in the realm of the Dream. The first few seconds were always the worst. A disjointed, fuzzy feeling, followed by all the blood rushing in the ears. The stomach swoops as one takes their first step into the Dream, and the rest of the body snaps into place all at once, leaving one dizzy and confused.

"Maria!" An excited voice rings out through the dream. The tall woman smiles. The Hunter had a particularly foolish, boyish smile that he reserved just for her, and seeing it always made her troubles disappear, if only for a moment.

Maria flashed him one of her own, praying he would not see the sadness behind it.

"Where have you been?!" He pants, skidding to a stop. "We were going to have a homecoming dinner, remember? Sedative Stew, your favorite!"

"Your favorite," Maria corrects. "I find the taste to be rather unpleasant." Truth be told, it is her favorite, but she knew that sedatives would not be healthy for the baby. "But it will have to wait. We have more pressing concerns that should be dealt with sooner, rather than later."

The Hunter frowns. "We just arrived home for the first time in a year. What could be so important?"

"You want your doll to have a body, do you not?"

The air stills between the two, the Hunter staring at her in disbelief. "You mean it?" He says, his voice small. "You would do that for us?"

Maria gives him a wan smile. "I am in the market for a new body anyway. This one is getting a bit heav-OOF!"

The breath is driven from her as the Hunter darts forward, wrapping her in a heartfelt hug. She returns it gingerly, closing her eyes and basking in his warmth. She feels muscles that weren't there before, physical proof of his growth. Fighting in the Ringed City had done wonders for his skill as a hunter.

The two friends embrace for some time, only separating when they hear the clack of heels on the cobblestone, signaling the Doll's approach. While inclined to be angry at the sight of her lover and her arch-rival embracing, she knew by the look on the Hunter's face that he had a suitable reason. As soon as he cleared Maria's arms, the Hunter leapt into the Doll's, squeezing her fiercely.

"She agreed!" The Hunter shouts, standing on his toes and kissing her passionately, his eyes bright and happy. The Doll looks up in surprise at Maria, who tilts her head at the Hunter as if to say, 'How could I say no to those eyes?'

The Doll nods curtly. Maria rolls her eyes. I suppose that's the closest to 'Thank you' I'll ever get from her.

The Doll clears her throat. "Then I suppose the first order of buisness is to find Oedon, yes?" The pair of friends nod their assent.

"Then it seems we have no choice but to join for a final time," The Doll says grimly.

"Hold on," The Hunter says, stopping her. "First, we need a name for the two of you. I feel strange calling you by either name when you are joined like that."

"What would you suggest?" Maria asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," the Hunter starts, scratching his chin. "It should be a mix of both your names, so... Karia? No... Karimia? No, that's not right..." Suddenly his eyes light up, and his mouth tugs upward in a grin.

"Well, whenever you share a body, you get wet, so how about... Marina?"


	17. New Blood

The Hunter trods through the streets, bumping into carriages and tripping over bodies. He sports two brilliantly black eyes, as well as bright red rash on his neck. Such is the danger of antagonizing two feisty Cainhurst women.

While he normally would have used a blood vial to heal the injury, they had been confiscated by the aforementioned women to 'teach him a lesson.'

"I thought it was funny," the Hunter mutters.

"Excuse me?"

The Hunter jumps at the sound of Marina's voice. "Nothing! Nothing at all."

She faces forward once more, frowning. She was dressed in full Doll attire, seeing as the body would soon be the Doll's anyway.

"I hate skirts," Maria complains, taking over. "They make it much too hard to move, and they look foolish besides."

"Your coat is the length of a skirt," the Hunter points out. "It's much easier to grab, as well."

"The aesthetics more than make up for the tactical disadvantage," Maria argues.

"You are Cainhurstian. You people seem to value fashion over function."

"You people?" Maria says indignantly.

"Name one Cainhurstian that wore ordinary clothes."

Maria thinks on it. She honestly can't recall any; looking fabulous was as deeply ingrained in her culture as blood and decadence. "You may have a point."

They continued that way for some time, arguing, bantering, laughing, returning to the way things used to be. It was enough for Maria to forget all her worries and doubts.

Maria smiles. Gods, it's been so long. Ten months? A year? I should thank my lucky stars that Cainhurstians have a two year gestation period, elsewise I would have given birth by now.

The thought unnerved her. The Doll she could easily see as a mother; hell, she was practically made to be one.

But me? Maria thinks. Would I even deserve to be a mother after what I did to Kos and her son?

"Maria? Are you alright? You've gone pale."

The Hunter's voice breaks her out of her reverie. "I am always pale, simpleton," she responds, giving him an unconvincing smile. She mentally kicks herself. Normally she is skilled at hiding her emotions, but the hormones running rampant through her brain make it difficult.

The Hunter frowns. "Perhaps..."

Much of the 'day' passes in silence, the footsteps of the two bodies echoing off of bloodstained stone walls. They encounter the odd blood-addled townsman, normally not of mind sound enough to even fight. What they encounter more frequently however, are citizens. Time is convoluted across worlds, and it appears that little time has passed between their departure to the Ringed City and their return home. The beasts have yet to return in great numbers, and many Yharnamites are brave enough to venture out for food and supplies.

Most are armed and armored, with nary a patch of flesh to be seen. Men, women, and even the odd guttersnipe pass by decked in leather and fur, makeshift weapons clanging on their hips. The city is even looking a bit cleaner, with the worst of the gore swept away by rain. Moonrays dance off of puddles in the street, every so often creating an eerie rainbow in the vapor from the steam pipes around the city.

Their trip to Iosefka's clinic yields no results, as expected. The Blood Minister who had given the Hunter his transfusion had no allegiance to her, nor the church. He came and went, with no message to herald his arrival. Last she heard, he was headed to the choir district, but that was weeks ago. After that, he would normally leave Yharnam, only to return on the eve of the next hunt.

Maria thanks her, heading out into the courtyard.

"So what now?" The Hunter asks.

"How should I know?!" Maria snarls. "He was our last hope! But we are good and truly fucked, now, aren't we? By the time he comes 'round, it'll be over, and I'll be gone!"

The Hunter steps back, suprised by her vulgar outburst. "Gone, what...? Maria are you alright?" He puts his hand on her back, and she quivers under his touch.

"Don't touch me!" She violently shoves the Hunter away. "Your touch has done enough!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" The Hunter spits angrily. "What happened to my friend? You've been a different person ever since we left for the Ringed City! You hardly talk to anyone anymore, you sleep all day, and you snap at anyone within earshot! Why the hell are you being like this?!"

"Because I'm pregnant, you ass!"

The air stills. Off in the distance, a howl rings through the city streets.

"You're what?"

The Hunter stands deathly still, afraid that the smallest noise could obscure her voice.

"Pregnant," Maria whispers. Tears roll down her cheeks, and oddly, that is the most disturbing thing in the scene unfolding before him. Maria never cries. He has seen her shot, stabbed, shocked, and clubbed, but never once did a tear leave her eye.

The Hunter's mind races. He doesn't have to ask who the father is; her reaction was proof enough.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asks, his voice small. He tries in vain to keep the hurt from his voice. "Why-... Why, Maria?"

"Because," Maria starts. "I love you. It hurts more than you know that you would choose a Doll that looks like me, rather than me. And I know how unfair of me that is." She draws a shaky breath. "When you were making love with the Do-... When you were making love with Karina, I was there. I felt everything she did, and it was like we were finally together. I couldn't throw that away, even though I knew it wasn't safe."

The Hunter listens quietly, his mind reeling.

Suddenly, a gruff voice cuts through the night, accompanied by the squeaking of rusty wheels.

"That was quite a speech, girlie."

Through the mist, a grizzled old man appears, slowly moving his wheelchair across the cobblestones. The chair is decked with dozens of blood vials, syringes, intravenous tubes and bags, and bags of unsigned contracts.

"I've heard enough from this 'un to know that you'd be quite the addition to the hunt," he grunts jerking his head towards a familiar Messenger on his shoulder.

"Now... Let's get you signed and sealed."


	18. One for Both

"Just relax, Lady Maria. Lay back. would you like to hold my hand?"

Iosefka gently eases Maria down onto the gurney, ignoring the older woman's protests.

"Don't patronize me, you little brat," Maria snaps.

Iosefka shoots her a quizzical look. "But you were clinging to me like a leaf to a tree when I drew your blood for the pregnancy test."

Maria's face turns a brilliant shade of crimson. "S-s-silence!"

"Wait," the Hunter says. "Maria, you're afraid of needles?! But you use more blood vials than an anemic vampire!"

"That's different!" Maria snaps. "Blood vials go straight down into your leg, and the needle is large. But these injections use the small needles that slide under the skin, through the vein, then-... Ughhhh," she groans cringing. The blood minister prepares the needle, the tip shining in the moonlight.

Maria shivers. "Get over here," she whispers, pulling Iosefka on top of her and holding her tight. When faced with one's greatest fear, ego tends to evaporate rather quickly.

The Hunter joins in, reaching over and hugging the large woman by the shoulders, resting his head against her collarbone. His hand snakes down to grasp hers, squeezing it reassuringly. Maria visibly relaxes, her eyelids closing slightly.

The blood minister wheels closer, patting her on the shoulder. "Prepared to leave this body behind?"

"As I'll ever be," Maria replies, taking a deep breath.

Before she has even finished inhaling, the needle plunges into her skin with pinpoint precision. By the time the feeling even registers, the process begins. Maria feels a strong tugging, and an eerily melodic female voice cuts through the haze.

Then, with the sound of rushing blood, she slips, leaving her body and child behind forever.

* * * * * *

Maria awakens, naked, in a dark, tepid abyss. With no ground to tether her, and no up, no down, no direction at all, her senses simply give up, putting her in a state of blissfull nothingness.

"This again..." She thinks, her thoughts echoing around the space.

Welcome back, child.

A voice, inhuman, deep, and genderless, worms it's way into her mind.

All beings yearn for the comfort of the womb that they once knew. You are no different.

Biting back a retort, Maria lays back, closing her eyes. "I have come to volunteer as a surrogate."

And This One graciously accepts. You shall be spared an oath for this second rebirth; live your life as you see fit. Your selfless actions in the nightmare have redeemed your past transgressions. Go forth without guilt.

* * * * * * * * *

Maria awakens on the cold stone path of the Dream, gasping. Her new, naked body stings, the flesh freshly grown and sensitive. Shivering, she quickly pads her way up to the workshop, rifling through the storage coffin for her clothes.

She hisses as the silk and satin rubs her skin, the leather of her coat feeling heavier than usual. She lets out a sigh as she slides her tricorn onto her head, reveling in the comfort and familiarity.

Slowly lowering herself to the ground, Maria scoots closer to the fire, shivering. She did it. Her baby- her last chance of being with the Hunter- is hers no longer.

"It was the right thing to do," Maria whispers.

But then why does it hurt so much?

jcujehhdufjdjd

The stale air of the clinic shimmers. A ray of moonlight falls across a tall woman, her form shimmering around the edges. Maria gains her bearings, forcing herself to draw up to her full height despite feeling like a wrung-out rag.

The sound of steady breathing draws her attention. The Doll, Iosefka, and the Hunter all lay on the clinc bed, having fallen asleep shortly after the transfer. Maria smiles, but her spirits quickly drop as she realizes that the Hunter will never be hers.

Sighing, she leaves the clinic, stepping out into the cramped Yharnam streets. The air is chilled, just a hint below cool.

It is unusually clear, untainted by the all too familiar scent of rot. The sky is cloudless, the cosmos in full view. Galaxies, stars, nebulas, all clear as day in the night sky.

How many more Great Ones reside on this plane alone? Maria thinks. She was never one to ponder the heavens, but now that all the commotion had died down, questions fill her mind.

She continues down a familiar street, one that brings back countless memories. She had her first drink at that bar. At the rooftop garden of that restaurant, her first kiss. At that park, her first break-up.

And that was just one night. Maria tends to go full speed or not at all.

She sees the odd beast or blood addled townsman, dispatching them easily.

Just as she is wiping the blood off of her blade, she hears footsteps behind her, whipping around.

"Ah, a hoonter, ah yah? And on outsidah.

What a mess you've been caught oop-in.

And on tanight, A' all niights." A woman, by the sound of her voice, stands there clad in a cloak of feathers, her face obscured by a plague mask.

Maria lowers her weapon upon seeing she poses no threat. The crow-woman sounds scottish, so she racks her brains for the little Gaelic she knows. "Ah, um... A bheil Beurla a 'bruidhinn thu?"

"Wahat the blooody 'ellre you onaboot? Y' speak th' queen's english, Y' giant lass o' pale visage and you-rin colahed haih?"

Maria looks the woman up and down, realizing with a start that her garb marked her as a hunter of hunters, the faction that seeks blood addled hunters and slays them. While she isn't blood addled, the group was known for roving in groups and slaying hunters, lucid or not.

Suddenly, Maria uses quickening, shoving over the old scottish crow and dashing down an alleyway.

"Ooah, me hip! Te neahv o' ya, to assail an ol' women! I-" Her shouts are quickly drowned out as Maria rounds a corner.

Oh well, she thinks. Better to hurt one innocent hunter than to be killed by five corrupt ones.

She rounds another corner, then another, dropping down to a plaza, unwittingly heading deep into the heart of Yharnam. The weathered cobblestone gives way to pale old brick, coated with dirt from years of neglect. Pace slowing, Maria pants, trying in vain to navigate her way through the urban maze.

Rounding a corner, she spots a figure slumped against a well. They don't seem to be injured, and even from a distance the figure seems familiar. She slowly approaches, shaking her head in disbelief. She bends down, finally getting a good look at his face.

It's the Hunter.

Marua gasps. "Hunter?!"

Suddenly, quick as a flash, his hand darts up to grab her arm, his eyes wide and panicked. "What happened?! Who are you?! What did you do to me?!"

Maria jumps back, startled. "Hunter, it is me! Maria!"

The hunter's breathing steadies, yet his eyes still don't have a hint of recognition.

"I know no one by that name." He stares off into the distance, struggling to recall what had happened.

Maria kneels down in front of him. "What happened?"

The man sighs. "I... I was sick. I came here for the healing blood, and the last thing I remember was being surrounded by these... These things."

Maria's eyes widen. No... It could not be... Is this... The Hunter's body?!

"You... You called me hunter. Who is he?"

Maria's face reddens slightly. He's my... Friend. Just a friend."

The man grins, the Hunter's trademark saccharine smile. "So, I suppose your friend must be quite handsome."

Maria's eyebrows raise. Slowly, her mouth tugs upward in a grin, and she covers her mouth as she begins to laugh. Soon she is doubled over, shaking with mirth.

Not long after, the man joins in, and the square is filled with the joyful sounds of two lonely strangers.


	19. Shining Coins

"So let me make sure this is clear."

The Hunter paces the clinic, the floorboards creaking and groaning. The seeds of a migraine are roaring their ugly heads, and the Hunter breathes deeply, willing himself calm.

"You attacked Eileen the Crow-a friend and ally, by the way-"

"There were extenuating circumstances!" Maria interrupts.

"Not the point. So, you ran into Old Yharnam, and found..."

"Your body," Maria confirms.

"My body," the Hunter repeats.

"I think I have a hypothesis," The Other Hunter interjects. The others stare at him.

The Other Hunter barrels on. "Like Lady Maria explained to me, when one becomes a Hunter, they leave their old body behind. Upon ending the hunt they return to their body and forget everything.

This is because my body and brain did not experience the hunt, therefore did not make those memories."

The others wait for him to continue. "Normally, Old Yharnam is inaccessible due to ruin. For humans and beasts, that is. Not for a Pthumerian Princess."

"Cainhurstian Noble," Maria corrects indignantly.

"My body was woken while he-" The Other Hunter points to the Hunter. "-Was still gone."

The Hunter looks thoughtful. "Micolash had said something about waking up with no memories... I had dismissed it as the ramblings of a dying madman, but it seems there was some truth to it."

"So now what?" Maria asks.

The Hunter shrugs. "We let him be. I don't need his-er, my- well, our body. He can have it." The Hunter looks at Maria, his face unreadable. He raises his eyebrows, the jerks his head to the Other Hunter, and holds the Doll's hand. The Implication is clear.

Well? Now we don't have to choose.

The Hunter clears his throat. "Maria, why don't you take our handsome, intelligent friend here and show him the dream? He needs to be armed." He winks.

"Ah, no thank you," The Other Hunter interrupts. "I am a man of science, not violence." The others look at him incredulously.

"No," the Hunter says slowly. "We love violence."

The Other Hunter shakes his head. "Upon becoming a hunter, you lost all memories of your former life, including our four years at Byrgenwerth. It's only natural that your amnesiac mind would take to violence in this crisis."

"Byrgenwerth?!" Maria breathes.

"Wait," the Hunter says. "Maria, What's Byrgenwerth?"

"A college created by the greatest mind in history," Maria replies. "Provost Willem. Half the amount of insight he gained would drive any man mad, yet he is still alive and sane, last I heard. My aunt Annalise was declined entry despite scoring in the ninety-ninth percentile. They denied Her. The Queen!"

The mention of Annalise makes the Hunter shudder. For a time he had become addicted to her royal blood, and she would only offer it in exchange for blood dregs, leeched from invaders. She used them to attempt to conceive and heir, though he knew not how. Although, given the viscosity and squid-like smell, he could hazard a guess.

Suddenly, the Doll attempts to speak for the first time since waking. Unused to a body of flesh and blood, she struggles to move, even speaking a chore, her Czech-like accent even more pronounced. So... This Other is truly... Nothing like My Hunter?"

The Other Hunter clicks his tongue. "I wouldn't go that far. We do have quite a few similarities." He mimes writing on a checklist. "Let's see... Incredible hair..."

"Check," the Hunter chimes in.

"A stunning smile..."

"Check."

"Devilishly handsome..."

"Check."

"A perfectly sculpted body..."

"Check."

"And incredibly large genitals." The two men look to the two women for affirmation.

They roll their eyes. "Check," they say in monotonous unison.

The Other Hunter snaps his imaginary journal shut. "I daresay we are equally perfect."

The Hunter drapes an arm around his shoulder. "Indisputably, my old bait."

"It's Indubitably and chum."

"Indisputably works too. And chum is bait!"

"How am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

"You speak english, don't you? And you're me! A Me should know what I mean."

"It's you and I."

"What is?"

"You are!"

"I'm talking about me, not me! I mean, you. But you're me, and a me should know what I mean!"

"Don't get angry with me because you're a simpleton!"

"I don't weigh that much, simple or not, you cretin!"

"Well, if I'm a cretin, then what does that make you? Cre-aluminum?"

"I can feel my alumin fine, It's not numb at all!"

The Doll turns to Maria and Iosefka. "I have had about as much as I can stomach. Tea?"

The others nod their assent, the Hunters' squabbling fading as they head towards the clinic's kitchenette.

Iosefka prepares the tea as Maria bring chairs down from storage. The Doll refrains from moving, still having difficulty walking in this new body.

Once the three are sat and settled, they let out a sigh. The past half-dozen hours were arguably the most stressful and important of their lives.

"So..." Maria starts. "It appears we have nothing to fight over any more."

The Doll scoffs. "Do not expect me to be anything more than cordial to you."

"I didn't," Maria replies. "And what of you? Are you not scared?"

"Of what?" The Doll tilts her head.

"The pregnancy," Maria replies.

"Ah... I... Do not know how to feel. I have used your body before, but without your influence it's much harder to control. It feels... Different. And to have a child this soon... I think we are both in shock. It hasn't even sunk in for the Good Hunter..."

Maria listens quietly. She had been so caught up in the pregnancy that she hadn't even thought about what would happen when it was born. Would it be right to raise it in a barren city like Yharnam? To have the child hide in fear each year during the hunt?

Maria measures her words carefully, afraid of angering the Doll. "Well, in a way, he or she has four parents." The Doll looks up at her as the huntress continues.

"All of our bodies are the same, so the child will... Well, it won't be ours, however..." She sighs frustratedly, deciding to put it bluntly.

"The child will have four people who care for it dearly. So there isn't anything to worry about. If things get difficult, then we can help. Twice the carers, half the work, no?"

The Doll stares at her blankly for a moment. Then, slowly, her mouth turns up into a radiant smile. She pulls Maria into a gentle embrace as tears run down her cheeks.

And for the first time, they are not stone.


End file.
